


Operation Sashimi

by soobiscuits



Series: Operations! [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soobiscuits/pseuds/soobiscuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isobel works at a Japanese restaurant where she's the only female, and only actually-serious employee.</p><p>Oh, and while she's immune to her colleagues' handsomeness (ugliness), she finds herself weak — very weak — to her new colleague's gummy smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Sashimi

**Author's Note:**

> I have a feeling that stories with OCs aren't welcomed on this site, but this is necessary for future spin-offs. So. Take it (and I'll run away now).
> 
> Crosspost #2 yay (and I still don't know how to add a link .-.)

"The soba's for table nineteen, the udon's for twelve."

 

Isobel nods, briefly sending her fellow colleague a smile before she nimbly scoops the tray up onto a single hand, the other hand gripping onto the edge for balance. She then sets off, eyes sweeping her surroundings, feet taking her to the respective tables with a speed that shows off how long she has been working at the establishment. It’s not easy to walk fast with two bowls of piping hot noodles balanced on a single palm, with steps and obstacles in the form of customers and colleagues along the way. 

 

Yet, Isobel reaches the first table in less than ten seconds, her free hand setting down the bowl of udon in front of a less-than-enthusiastic teenager whose mother prods him to thank the server. The boy merely grunts and Isobel politely smiles a little in return before she’s off, her feet taking her to the other table. 

 

Her mind runs a mile a minute, the brain situated within trying to figure out where that table might be, figurative hands rummaging in imaginary folders to dig out that map of the restaurant she had committed to long-term memory within a week of working.  _ Ah _ , the brain sighs in relief as it fishes out the important document,  _ here it is _ . And it goes about relaying directions to her feet and within eight seconds of leaving table twelve, Isobel arrives at table nineteen. 

 

“Shoyu ramen?” Isobel informs the table’s occupants with a standard, patronising smile that she directs to every customer she meets. No teeth, no wide creepy grin like a clown’s; just, a  _ smile _ . The only adult at the table gestures to herself and Isobel promptly sets the bowl down in front of her, says  _ enjoy your meal _ , and then she’s off again. 

 

She works in that routine for around ten minutes before she almost spills three bowls of matcha ice cream onto a customer’s head.  _ Almost _ , but a single stray droplet did make its way onto the man’s greying hair and Isobel terrifyingly thinks that her job stint at this restaurant is over. Amidst her continuous repetitions of  _ I am so sorry _ and her offer of paying for a hair wash in which the man kindly and profusely declines, Isobel notices a pair of eyes that had fixed themselves upon her. 

 

The eyes belong to a male, whom she recognises as the customer who towered over her when he walked past her minutes ago. She recalls staring at him for a few seconds, watching her colleague lead him and the same old man to a table, before she shook her head and got back to work. But even as he is seated now, Isobel thinks that she would only be a head taller than him. 

 

Her eyes meet with his, and the man’s blow wide with surprise. He looks away then, a tinge of pink colouring his cheeks. Isobel cocks a brow, confusion washing over her but it quickly dissipates when the man, whose hair almost became a common bowl for three scoops of matcha ice cream, beckons her manager closer to him and Isobel thinks again,  _ that’s it I’m going to be fired.  _ The two men talk in hushed voices for a few moments before Isobel’s manager pulls away and shoots her a  _ what-are-you-still-doing-here  _ expression. Isobel’s mouth forms an ‘o’, eyelids blinking rapidly in helplessness, but she quickly regains her composure and with a curt nod, she scarpers but not before she hears a snigger from the male. 

 

Isobel freezes for a second, head turning slightly towards his direction to see his lips stretching wide and a gummy smile forms on his face. Her chest constricts immediately but as she notices his eyes about to dart to her, Isobel flees. 

 

(The girl almost tumbles off the steps with yet another three bowls of matcha ice cream on her tray when her eyes subconsciously strayed and caught sight of another gummy smile.) 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Morning.” 

 

Isobel mumbles, her lips barely peeling apart for the greeting to slip out loudly but her colleagues that greet in return as she steps into the establishment don’t seem to mind. It is normal for the girl to report to work in a sleepy state because she’s the only part-timer who willingly works a full-day shift as she waits for her university school term to start. 

 

Besides, they have seen worse days where she came with her eyes barely open, face still holding remnants of sleep, and her hair in extreme disarray. And there was that one time where she actually reported to work in her pyjamas; her colleagues have no idea how that happened but they don’t talk about it because their precious youngest doesn’t seem to remember. 

 

So as Isobel falls face-down onto a three-seater couch seat, her colleagues kindly leave her be. Her manager cautiously removes her bag from her arms, and traipses towards the back room. Along the way, he shoves his hand inside to retrieve the pouch where the girl keeps her keys. He emerges with it, picks out her locker key and opens her locker, carefully places her bag inside before taking out her apron. He then returns to his knocked-out employee and quietly places the neatly-folded apron on the table where he knows she will see when she awakes. With a fond smile, he gazes at her for a few seconds before leaving. 

 

The man walks towards the cashier with a spring in his step, although the dark circles beneath his eyes betray the exhaustion he feels from being captain of this ship he singlehandedly manages daily. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he was about to step into the space when a shadow appears on the counter and he finds herself needing to crane his neck upwards to look at the person who has a smile on his face. 

 

“Good morning,” The person politely greets, his raspy, deep voice breaking the silence of the restaurant’s pre-opening state. His eyes are obscured by several strands of hair, and the manager notices how tousled his locks are. The person’s face looks cleanly shaven and as the manager continues to sweep his eyes over him, the smile on his face gradually widens into a gummy smile. “I’m the new employee that’s due to start working here from today onwards.” 

 

That is when the eyes of the manager finally flit back to the person’s face, dilating in recognition and he blurts out, “You’re the person who was with the customer whom Bel almost spilt ice cream on a few days ago!” At the mention of the name in the manager’s shriek, the new employee’s brows rise and he mouths at no one in particular,  _ ah so that’s her name _ . 

 

The manager finds the sudden action queer but ignores it as the familiarity of the person who still stands across the counter washes over him, and after he takes in his new employee’s towering stature and chiseled appearance, a satisfied smile forms on his countenance. “You’re good-looking. I think I’ll have more female customers soon.” 

 

The taller male chuckles at that, “Thank you for your compliment, and I’m glad to be of service in attracting more customers for your establishment, Sir.” He then extends a hand across the counter and the manager slips his hand into the much larger one. He tries not to wince at the difference in size and the feeling of being overwhelmed, and instead focuses on correcting his new charge’s diction. “Aye, please don’t call me that, you’re making me feel old. Just call me Lu Han.” 

 

“Lu Han,” The raspy, deep voice calls out and Lu Han smiles at that. “And I’m–”

 

“Welcome to our small family,” Lu Han interrupts, an involuntary manager-y reaction when he feels that conversations are getting too long to continue. (In actual fact, Lu Han just wants to remove his hand from the male’s;  _ it’s getting sweaty _ .) “Kris.” 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Who’s the new kid?” 

 

There are no customers yet, since the doors to the restaurant just officially opened, so Isobel sleepily leans against the counter, elbow propped on it which in turns supports her head, as she murmurs to the two sushi chefs manning their work station. Minseok, the older of the two men, clucks at his colleague’s slur of words but replies her anyway. “You can see him? Where are your spectacles?” 

 

Isobel pointedly puffs out her chest, and in the front pocket of her black polo shirt hangs a pair of black-rimmed spectacles. Minseok winces at the girl’s action, mutters an inaudible  _ no sense of shame this girl  _ under his breath before he properly answers, “He’s Kris. He starts today as a part-timer but nobody knows how long he’ll be working here. Heard from Lu Han that he’s probably waiting for his university term to start too.” Minseok then glances at Isobel, “Maybe he’s in the same university as you, Bel.” 

 

Isobel shrugs, her mind still trying to start up so she actually hasn’t heard most of what Minseok has said. Her eyes seem blank and the word ‘exhaustion’ is clearly written all over her face, no doubt the result of back-to-back full-day shifts Isobel undertook the past month. 

 

The older sushi chef gives the restaurant’s youngest employee a long look, his mind recalling the one time he attempted to persuade the girl to opt for half-day shifts instead of a full-day ones but found himself being ignored as Isobel stomped away with a dark cloud of stubbornness hanging over her head, and he sighs.

_ Instead of wasting energy in trying to convince her to slow down _ , Minseok thinks,  _ I should use it to make her some salmon rolls.  _ And the chef discreetly hides a small plate of salmon at the back of his side of the chiller which he shares with his partner. He makes sure to stash it behind containers of sliced cucumber and radish where no one but him would be able to find out. Minseok shuts the door, smirking. 

 

“Why are you smirking, Minseok? It’s creepy.” Isobel seems to have finally woken up, her eyes, now hiding behind the pair of spectacles, are bright and seeing, and she stretches her limbs. A low, drawn-out sigh of relief leaves her lips as her joints crack satisfyingly and the other sushi chef, Yixing, chuckles at the girl’s grandmotherly sigh. Isobel hears that and snaps her narrowed eyes to the male in question, a mock scowl already formed on her face. “Yixing, I know what you’re thinking but I can safely assure you that I am no grandmother!” 

 

Yixing raises his hands in mock denial of his thoughts, mouth forming an ‘o’ before sliding into a pout. “I most certainly didn’t think that, but if you say so.” Isobel scoffs at that and the younger sushi chef lets out a peal of soft laughter. “But Bel, if you keep behaving like a grandmother, who would want to be your boyfriend?” 

 

“I would.” 

 

A foreign voice joins the party and Isobel feels a presence behind her. A  _ hulking  _ presence. A small wave of panic washes over her and Isobel quickly looks to Yixing who mouths  _ Kris _ . The girl groans inwardly but immediately slaps on a patronising smile as she whirls around and she almost crumples onto the clean flooring. “Y-You…” Her eyes widen significantly and the panic within her surges. “It’s you!” 

 

“Hey,” Kris grins, his hands sticking themselves on his waist as he looks down at his surprised colleague. “I hope you haven’t spilt any more ice cream onto people’s heads while I wasn’t here.” His upper lip curls upwards, revealing a set of white teeth and Isobel recognises this as Step Two in the formation of a gummy smile. (Isobel doesn’t acknowledge it but her mind might have  _ accidentally  _ recorded the entire scene of how Kris’ gummy smile was formed, and she rewinds it like a Youtube video put on permanent replay whenever she feels like it.) 

 

Yixing is separated from Isobel and Kris by the sushi counter, but it doesn’t stop him from ruthlessly whacking the girl on the back of her head with a rubber glove when the chef figures out, from the lack of response towards the new kid’s statement, that she must have spaced out. So as Isobel snaps out of her daze and turns her head around to shoot him a murderous glare, Yixing nonchalantly replies for her. “Nope, Bel hasn’t committed another ice cream incident since that one, although she did almost spill shoyu soup onto Lu Han but damn, she didn’t.” He purses his lips, and Kris laughs. 

 

Isobel’s breath hitches upon hearing the new employee’s low, throaty laugh, but as her eyes meet with Yixing’s mischievous ones, she hurriedly recovers and smirks at him. “I’m telling Lu Han.” 

 

Colour drains from the younger sushi chef’s face and that expression alone is enough revenge for Isobel as she skips off, ears ignoring Yixing’s pleas of  _ no, please, I don’t want to sleep on the streets  _ echoing after her. Isobel hopes that their manager steps out of the kitchen right then to hear his boyfriend and issues a punishment she can’t do because of  _ psh _ , age limitations. She can’t wait to hear of Zhang Yixing being thrown out of his shared apartment with Lu Han. 

 

At that thought, Isobel snickers and she almost reaches the servers’ counter where a couple of figures lay sprawled over when– “Bel, wait up!” 

 

She freezes, black sneakers skidding on the flooring and the goosebump-raising screech of soles against clean tiles reverberates in the quiet restaurant. She imagines Minseok flinching as he prepares the seaweed, or Yixing and Lu Han stiffening in the midst of their love squabble (if Lu Han has exited the kitchen). Isobel does see her fellow servers, Zitao, Sehun, and Jongin, falling off the counter right in front of her, though, their bodies piling on top of one another’s. Zitao yells for Jongin to  _ wake the fuck up  _ as Sehun rolls off Jongin, sits on the floor and cackles maniacally at Zitao’s plight of being squashed by a bleary Jongin. 

 

Isobel would have laughed at Zitao too if she wants to, but she can’t. Not when the hulking presence comes from behind her for the second time and Isobel cautiously spins around, the same patronising smile she gives to customers plastered onto her face. “Yes? Um. Uh...?” 

 

“Oh.  _ Oh _ , it’s Kris.” Kris points a long finger to himself, his lips pulling upwards and Isobel (to her  ~~ delight ~~ horror) recognises it as Step One of the gummy smile formation. “Just, call me Kris?” And he blooms into a gummy smile, skipping all the steps that Isobel has uselessly identified, causing the girl to stiffen but as he continues to bathe his only female colleague in the beam of his dazzling smile, Isobel can’t help but smile a little in return. 

 

“Okay,” She breathes. “Kris.”

  
  


\---

  
  


“So you’re shadowing me?” 

 

Kris nods. “Lu Han says you’re the only actually-serious worker in this restaurant.” Then he adds with a soft, low whisper, “Besides himself, of course.” 

 

Isobel swallows at the deep baritone and wills herself to mentally ignore it before scoffing, “What a show-off, that manager.” But she breaks into a small, knowing smile because she knows that Lu Han actually  _ is  _ a serious worker, only taking off-days when he really can’t slink off his bed (according to Yixing) and report for work in the pink of health. Those days usually never happen.  

 

“Anyway,” Kris interrupts her cloud of thoughts and brings Isobel back to the Japanese restaurant. “Do take care of me, Bel.” Kris bows slightly, his long torso bending forward and his hair barely misses the tip of Isobel’s nose. She almost sneezes into the crown of his head (to her mortification). 

 

“Um, actually,” Isobel begins, her ears having picked up on a word she wishes to correct her new shadow. “My name isn’t–”

 

“Bel! Get your ass moving and stop flirting with the new kid!” Lu Han hollers from somewhere in the restaurant and an awkward pause later, the laughs of men ( _ boys really _ , Isobel thinks bitterly) fill her ears. 

 

She eyes Jongin and Sehun making cooing noises from the servers’ counter and she shoots them a death glare. They don’t shut up, but a ninja-Lu Han’s whack on their heads with a towel silences them effectively and Isobel snickers as they cower under the man even though he’s shorter than them. 

 

As Isobel has said, Lu Han  _ is  _ a serious employee. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“The sashimi is for table eight, and the handroll is table twenty-one.” 

 

Yixing instructs Kris, and the latter nods seriously, his eyes sweeping across the establishment as he tries to recall the numbers of the tables. Next to him, Isobel watches but Minseok snaps her out of her daze by having her bring dishes to customers too. She waits for her shadow to set off, her feet trailing after his, as he makes his way towards the tables his dishes are meant for. 

 

He makes a wrong turn and Isobel panics, seeing how he has his free hand on the plate of sashimi and looks about ready to set it on table eleven instead of table–

 

“Here’s your sashimi,” Kris whirls around at the last second, his eyes blowing wide at the presence of his colleague behind him, but he just smiles (no gummy smile though,  _ darn _ ) and places the sashimi on table eight. “Enjoy your meal.” 

 

Kris then looks to Isobel, the patronising smile that the girl has taught him to slap on in front of customers blossoming into the gummy smile (and Isobel goes through the motions of the formation in her mind automatically), and he says, “Bet you were worried there, weren’t you?” 

 

Isobel regains her  ~~ sanity ~~ thoughts, a sneer playing across her face but Kris takes no notice of that. He continues to smile, gum and all, at her. Isobel’s about to lose it. “I wasn’t worried. Not at all.” 

 

“Don’t lie.” Isobel’s breath hitches when Kris dips his head towards her, eyes capturing hers and his gummy smile is all that she sees until–

 

“Stop flirting in front of the customerssssssss.” Someone hisses from behind her and Isobel flinches when she recognises it as the manager’s voice.  _ Great,  _ she thinks,  _ I’m going to be fired for something I didn’t intend to do– Wait what?  _ There was no intention at all when she spoke to Kris. There wasn’t. Isn’t. Totally no intention of flirting at all. Totally.

 

By the time Isobel senses Lu Han walking away from her, his hiss still replaying in her mind like a broken recorder, her shadow was long gone and she finds herself standing between tables seven and eight foolishly with her dishes. The customers seated at those tables peer up curiously at her and she flashes the standard, patronising smile at them before traipsing on. 

 

Chiding herself in her head, she quickly delivers her dishes and returns to the sushi counter where Minseok and Yixing give her knowing looks, and Isobel wishes she could slap them both with her dirty table-cleaning towel. Minseok would probably scream because  _ germs germs germs!  _ while Yixing would just stare blankly at her, the action not registering in his mind. (Isobel highly reckons that Yixing only thinks about two things — sushi, and Lu Han.)

 

But no, she shall not be the one to make a mistake first (even if she really,  _ really  _ does want to whack the sushi chefs and probably the rest of the now-cackling crew into space). Instead, she will tolerate. And tolerate, she will. 

 

(Isobel whacks Yixing’s chef hat off his head a while later when she spies Yixing making kissy faces at Minseok and Minseok tattles that Yixing had pretended to be her while Minseok’s Kris. Isobel  _ very much  _ wants to tell Lu Han about this and have Zhang Yixing sleeping on the streets.)

  
  


\---

  
  


“Your home is in this direction, too?” 

 

A familiar hulking presence makes itself known seconds later after Isobel steps out of the restaurant and takes a left turn, her arms stretched above her head as she yawns and wills herself to not drop onto the pavement and just, _sleep_ ~~forever~~. 

 

She freezes, heart beginning to thump in her chest as a long shadow appears next to hers. “Um, yep. I live about ten minutes from here.” Isobel replies and walks on, her mind still running a mile a minute even though work ended thirty minutes ago. She half-prays that Kris wouldn’t follow her, or trail behind her like a stalker would; then again, she half-hopes that Kris would fall into step and easy banter with her. The girl can’t handle awkward situations too well. She can hardly hold a conversation with herself for more than three minutes. (Not that anyone can, actually. Unless you’re mentally unsound.)

 

“Oh,” To her relief, Kris catches up to her (long legs and all, y’know) and immediately falls into step with her. “Me too; though I’m about fifteen minutes away but walking is healthy.” 

 

And, the conversation lapses into silence. Isobel is about to lose it,  _ again _ . 

 

“Um, why are you working at the restaurant, if you don’t mind me asking?” Isobel gingerly asks, her hands slipping into the front pockets of her black jeans, as she turns her head slightly towards her colleague. “Money? For fun? Knowledge?” 

 

Kris’ tongue darts out and he holds it between his thin lips, not moving it as he thinks. Isobel thinks he better answer soon, and keep his tongue before her fingers flit over and just–

 

“Knowledge,” Kris answers just then, his tongue disappearing back into his mouth and Isobel mentally heaves a sigh of relief, though an inexplicable pang of regret shoots through her chest. “For… knowledge.” 

 

The girl looks at her giant colleague, her mind having picked up on a brief pause and hesitation in his reply, and confusion washes over her so she probes. “Knowledge?” 

 

Kris nods slowly, his eyes darting to the corners of his eyes but he doesn’t turn to look at Isobel. “You could say I’m trying to learn how restaurants work and operate on a daily basis.” His tongue then sticks out again and he drags it nervously across his lips. 

 

Isobel notices that and she feels her fingers twitching in the pockets. She ignores them and chooses to focus on her colleague’s answer. “Are you studying about that? Culinary practices, or managerial duties? Because if it’s the latter, I’m sure Lu Han would be more than happy to help you out.” 

 

Kris doesn’t reply, he just stares straight ahead and walks, their steps still in sync with each other. 

 

“Or if you enter the kitchen, our chefs Chanyeol and Kyungsoo would help you out too.” Isobel continues to look at him, never mind her heart seemingly about to rip its way out of her chest or that her face was the colour of ripe tomatoes. Why is her new colleague so darn good-looking?  _ Whyyyyyy– _ “The guys are all very nice.” Then she mutters under her breath, “Most of the time.” 

 

“You seem to be very close to them.” Kris finally speaks, but Isobel doesn’t miss out on his tone. Suddenly cold and sharp, quite akin to Minseok and Yixing’s sushi knives or Kyungsoo and Chanyeol’s insane accuracy at slicing carrots into sticks at the speed of light. Confusion seeps into her. 

 

“Well,” She begins, her running-a-mile-a-minute mind phrasing her words properly because Isobel reckons that a single incorrectly-spoken word would lead to disaster. 

 

And she would know, because she deals with annoying customers all the time, what with  _ is this soup shoyu or miso  _ or  _ are you sure this is sashimi  _ and Isobel always barely manages to keep her anger in check otherwise she’d be flipping tables at those morons who don’t seem to know Japanese cuisine at all. Excuse  _ them  _ but who is the one working in a Japanese restaurant — them, or  _ her _ .

 

“Sehun was the one who recommended me this job, because he’s kinda my childhood friend even though we drifted apart when I had to move away from his neighbourhood. Now his best friend is Jongin, but sometimes we hang out together.” 

 

“Mm.” Kris grunts and Isobel clears her throat silently while she resignedly thinks,  _ great this conversation is going downhill. Mental note to never walk home with Kris ever again.  _

 

“Why… Why do you ask?” 

 

“I was just curious.” Was his matter-of-fact reply and Isobel doesn’t know how to reply to that. The conversation goes to ruins. 

 

The girl arrives at her home minutes later and with a curt bow, she dashes up the steps and lets herself into the lift lobby with deft fingers on the number pad. She feels his eyes on herself the entire time but she doesn’t look back, doesn’t turn back, doesn’t say  _ good night _ . 

 

Isobel just flees. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Here, let me help you.” 

 

Isobel shuts her eyes, in exasperation more than the sudden onslaught of delight that washes over her, as a more-than-familiar hulking presence appears behind her and it wasn’t long before a long arm reaches over her head to grab the basket of chopsticks stored high up on the shelves. At times like these, Isobel wishes she was taller because she doesn’t need any more height jokes directed at her (courtesy of ex-childhood friend Oh Sehun and new best friend Kim Jongin). She prays that new-colleague-slash-giant Kris Wu hasn’t conversed much with them yet.   

 

“Thanks.” She whirls around, hands immediately gripping onto the red basket held between their bodies, eyes transfixing themselves on the abundance of chopsticks, and she was about to side-step past him when Kris pipes up, “I see that you’ve been leaving rather early these few days.” 

 

Isobel freezes and Kris takes the chance to step in front of her again, the tips of his black sneakers meeting with hers. Isobel feels his breaths on the crown on her head and she sees his chest smack right in front of her. If she leans forward just a little bit,  _ just a little bit _ , her forehead would be able to rest itself on those comfortable–  _ ugh shut up, shut up, shuddup!  _

 

“Lu Han wasn’t too happy that you left without refilling the vinegar and soy sauce bottles yesterday.” Kris fiddles with his apron and Isobel’s eyes follow the movement of his fingers like a hawk eying its prey. Her mind begins to note down the gentle folds of skin that adorn those long, svelte digits (to her belated horror because  _ oh my god I’m a sucker for this– and is that a scar? _ ). “He asked if you had something on.” 

 

“Um,” Isobel’s mind whirs, having shut down since break time had started and she had been waiting for Chanyeol’s staff lunch to be ready since ten minutes ago. “I-I had to run some errands for my mother, so that’s why I’ve been leaving earlier this past week.” 

 

Isobel doesn’t tell him that she wanted to avoid walking home with him. Like she had said, awkward situations ain’t her thing. And, well, it’s  _ Kris _ . The dude with the gummy smile that she has come up with steps for its formation. The dude that just makes her want to flee for reasons unknown.  ~~ The dude that sends her heart into overdrive with everything he does, mopping the floor included. ~~

 

“What kind of errands?” Kris probes, unaware of Isobel’s trembling fingers and reluctance to continue this conversation. His eyes still see the top of her head, the black roots of her dyed brown hair distracting him. “I could help you out so you’d be able to refill those bottles before Lu Han blows his top any night now.” His attempt at a joke falls extremely flat and Kris thinks he hears crows cawing right outside the restaurant. He mentally face-palms himself for a job  _ well _ done. He was never good with jokes, unfortunately. 

 

“Just– Errands.” Isobel sighs. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have chopsticks to bring out.” And the girl finally side-steps past her tall colleague and exits the back room. She notices the rest of her colleagues standing in a row right outside and rolls her eyes as they scarper the moment they see her emerging from the door. As if pretending to clean the seats or counter top, or throwing oneself over the counters and back into your working space doesn’t make you suspicious or a busybody. 

 

Isobel works with idiots. Lu Han the-only-other-serious employee included. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“She seems to hate you.” 

 

Kris glances up from his rag, and finds Sehun standing next to him. The taller boy narrows his eyes, his mind recalling a fact that  _ Bel  _ had mentioned some nights before that  _ Sehun’s kinda my childhood friend _ , and Kris automatically exits the conversation. Nothing to see here, nothing to talk about here. Nothing. 

 

He flits over to the next table, rag immediately doing its duty by wiping on a small puddle of sesame sauce, but Kris notices with annoyance that Sehun had followed. “What do you want, Sehun?” 

 

Sehun seems taken aback by the question, but more than that, he was surprised by his new colleague’s cold tone.  _ Hmm,  _ he thinks with a mental smirk forming in his head,  _ this will be fun _ . 

 

“Nothing,” Sehun replies, his tone flighty but he keeps the tease in it to a minimum. “Just wanted to see how our new colleague is faring. Also, I want to know if Bel’s been treating you alright.” 

 

Sehun hovers around Kris, not minding the fact that he’s a couple of centimetres shorter than the establishment’s newest addition and Jongin had called him  _ shortie  _ for that a couple of days after Kris officially started work. His best friend must have forgotten about the giant in the kitchen called Park Chanyeol. But then again, Jongin tends to forget everything.  ~~ Name included. ~~

 

“Couldn’t you ask her that yourself? Seeing how you’re her  _ childhood friend _ .” Kris remarks, not bothering to mask the bitterness in his words, as he slinks off to the servers’ counter to rinse his dirtied rag in a bucket of water. 

 

In the midst of twisting the cloth dry, Sehun appears beside him again and almost makes Kris spill the contents of the bucket onto the floor that Isobel had painstakingly mopped clean before she crashed onto one of the couches for her daily Lu Han-approved lunch break nap. Kris thinks that the manager has a very soft spot for the establishment’s only female employee, and he finds himself not liking that thought very much (to his confusion). 

 

“I could.” Sehun answers without hesitation, his eyes training themselves onto Kris’ less-than-amused face. “But I want to ask  _ you _ . Besides, that girl is in no state for a conversation right now.” The boy then proceeds to let out a snigger for his supposed joke and Kris thinks in relief that  _ yay, someone is as bad at jokes as I am _ . But he quickly pushes that thought to the recesses of his mind because  _ ew, no, this is ex-childhood friend Oh Sehun I’m talking about. My love ri– _

 

“Anyway, how’s Bel treating you? You okay?” 

 

Kris snaps out of his thoughts and just nods, not wanting to elaborate because he really doesn’t want to have this conversation with Sehun at all. He feels the dormant rage in him beginning to stir as Sehun’s eyes continue to be fixed on him, his (annoying) presence still within his radius and even though Kris has pointedly kept his mouth shut in hopes of his  _ senior  _ understanding that he wants to be left alone, Kris is sorely disappointed when Sehun speaks once more. 

 

“Not wanting to be a busybody, but are you, perhaps, interested in Bel?” 

 

Kris’ legs almost give way. 

 

“W-What!?” He splutters, eyes finally making contact with Sehun’s crescent ones. He doesn’t like that expression of absolute glee on the boy’s face. It seems as though he’s plotting something in that nutcase of a brain sloshing about in a skull filled with nothing but air. Yeah, that probably explains the question. That  _ fucking stupid  _ question which could have caused heart prob– “No.” 

 

“No what?” Sehun looks up, showing Kris a  ~~ wonderful ~~ view of his nostrils. Kris tries hard not to stab the boy’s moony eyes with his fingers because he’s sure that  _ Bel  _ won’t want to have a blind  _ ex _ -childhood friend and he doesn’t want  _ Bel  _ to hate him beca–  _ wait where is this going…? _

 

“No,” Kris clears his throat. “I’m… not interested in Bel.” 

 

Sehun doesn’t deflate, but he does pull away (much to Kris’ absolute delight) and folds his arms across his chest. “Okay, I see.” 

 

When Sehun doesn’t continue, Kris sees it as a chance to escape, which he does. Flashing the standard, patronising smile at his  _ senior _ , he grabs the bucket and the rag, and darts into the kitchen where Chanyeol and Kyungsoo stare at him with large eyes (larger for the shorter chef). 

 

He side-steps them, eyes transfixed on the massive cleavers in their hands for fear of them perhaps running after him with it (he better stop listening to Minseok and Zitao’s horror stories about the kitchen chefs), before dashing to the sink and dumps the bucket in it. His fingers grip the edge of the sink, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

 

Sehun’s question rings loud and clear in his mind even though Kris tries hard to push it out, to no avail. He doesn’t realise that someone had made his way next to him, a hand over one of his and it took the person more than twenty seconds to snap Kris out of his daze. 

 

Kris darts his eyes to the right, making contact with an unamused stare of the short chef, Kyungsoo. Fear washes over him immediately as he sees the cleaver in the chef’s hand and Zitao’s story of Kyungsoo chopping off an ex-employee’s fingers because of his incompetence to deliver dishes correctly swims into his mind. He opens his mouth, an apology about to slip out of his lips when Kyungsoo gently interrupts, “Are you okay, Kris?” 

 

“No.” 

 

Kris doesn’t know what got into him, but he answers honestly and allows himself to deflate, fear dissipating as Kyungsoo’s large eyes gaze at him. Kyungsoo puts down the cleaver, placing it carefully next to the bucket in the sink and he leads Kris to a stool somewhere in the kitchen. Chanyeol comes bounding but Kyungsoo sends him out with a do-not-disturb glare and Chanyeol whimpers pitifully, but obediently slinks out with a hunched back. Kris likens the duo to master and dog, but he doesn’t voice that out because  _ Kyungsoo  _ and  _ cleaver _ and  _ fingers _ .

 

“What’s up?” Kyungsoo pulls up next to the establishment’s tallest employee with another stool. “Care to tell me?” 

 

Kris doesn’t respond, just plays with his fingers and Kyungsoo notices a scar on his index finger. “Oh, where did you get that?” He points to the scar. 

 

“I was slicing leeks for dinner a couple of weeks back when I wasn’t paying attention, and yeah it just happened.” Kris absentmindedly rubs over the small, thin scar. 

 

“Was it because you were trying to replicate one of our hotpots?” 

 

Kris nods, but soon does a double take when he snaps his wide eyes at Kyungsoo who has a knowing expression on his face. “Wh– Huh!?” 

 

“I know everything, Kris.” Kyungsoo just says, his eyes twinkling with knowledge and Kris just sighs because  _ yeah, he does look like he knows everything _ . “I know.” 

 

“How… How did you find out?” 

 

Kyungsoo scoffs, “Did you think that I wouldn’t recognise my boss that day?” He then edges his face close to Kris’. 

 

“Or the boss’  _ son _ ?” 

  
  


\---

  
  


“You are finally refilling the vinegar and soy sauce bottles!” 

 

Isobel glances up from her work space, and her manager’s overly-exaggerated (and ugly) look of awe fills her sight. She promptly drops her eyes and goes back to stuffing the funnel into the rim of a soy sauce bottle. Her hand reaches for the large bottle of sauce but her fingers grab at air until someone unceremoniously shoves it in her face and Isobel gets a full inhalation of saltiness. Her eyes begin to tear due to the sudden invasion of salt and Isobel nearly flies over the table to strangle Lu Han. 

 

Lu Han just laughs when his only female employee snatches the bottle out of his hand and resumes her refilling. He rests his eyes on her, a fond expression forming on his  ugly now-pretty visage as he watches her work. 

 

Isobel manages to refill that current bottle of soy sauce before she snaps, “Go away, Lu Han. Go watch someone else.” 

 

A whimper comes from in front of her and Isobel stops her mind from coming up with an image of a Lu Han looking like a kicked  ~~ puppy ~~ deer. Never pity the manager, even if he has a baby face and the character of a manchild that only Yixing can withstand (and lived to tell the tale). She mentally applauds herself for not giving a damn to the still-whining Lu Han before the whimpers stop and Lu Han clears his throat.  

 

“Not afraid that I’d fire you for your impudence, Bel?” Lu Han looks at her, his eyes trying to narrow themselves in a bid to look angered but he gives up when his employee doesn’t even bother to look up from her bottles. “Oi…”

 

“I’m the only serious employee you have, dear manager.” Isobel comments, her tone betraying the sarcasm she feels, and her eyes flit upwards for a moment to take in Lu Han’s wide-eyed look before returning to the vinegar bottle in front of her. “So how about you tell me? Would I  _ ever  _ be fired?” 

 

“Tch, what a show-off.” 

 

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Isobel retorts playfully, and she shrieks when Lu Han suddenly ruffles her hair and almost causes her to spill an almost-filled soy sauce bottle. Amidst the combined laughter of the restaurant’s only-two serious employees, Isobel doesn’t feel a longing gaze directed at her from tables away. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Sashimi’s for table eleven, katsu-don’s for table sixty-eight.” 

 

Isobel side-eyes Yixing. “Um, as much as Lu Han has prayed with all his might for an expansion of this joint, there’s no table sixty-eight as of now, Yixing.” 

 

Yixing glances up from his rolling of a handroll, his fingers about to place a strip of egg onto the rice. He abandons the handroll to grab the order sheet from the tray, his eyes squinting as he tries to make out the blurred numbers written. “But it says sixty-eight though…” 

 

Isobel twists her body, eyes attempting to read the numbers scrawled messily on the small scrap of paper, and indeed, a  _ katsu-don 68  _ was written on it. She inhales deeply, and exhales just as much. From across the counter, Yixing pointedly scoots towards a surprised Minseok, handroll in tow. He knows that some serious shit is going to go down with whoever wrote that order. He better excuse his innocent self. 

 

Just then, Kris rushes over with an eaten crab salad gunkan and Minseok hurriedly tends to him. “Customer doesn’t want wasabi.” 

 

Minseok nods and quickly prepares another plate. Whilst he does that, Isobel sidles up to the new kid (of almost a month) and shoves the scrap of paper in his face. Kris blinks rapidly, not knowing what to make of it until Isobel practically screams in his face, “Did you write this?” 

 

Kris only manages to exhale before Isobel continues, “There is no table sixty-eight! So what the fuck is a sixty-eight doing here!?” 

 

She removes the paper then and her rage-contorted expression was all that Kris saw before she throws the paper at him and stomps off. Yixing barely snatches the bowl of katsu-don off the tray and he sets it down on the counter, his worried eyes darting to a frozen Kris. “You okay, Kris?” 

 

Kris opens his mouth, but no words come out of it. He finally stammers a disbelieved  _ Wh-What just happened?  _ when Minseok places the plate of wasabi-less crab salad gunkan on his tray and tells him to set off because he spies Lu Han coming over. “Go, hurry!” 

 

Kris nods and hurriedly scarpers, his feet taking him back to the table that requested for the gunkan. He then darts his eyes back to the sushi counter, seeing both Minseok and Yixing shrugging their shoulders and Lu Han bending forward to retrieve the paper that Isobel had unceremoniously flung at him. 

 

He wonders why she did that when a hiss comes from behind him and he side-steps to let a scowling Isobel pass. She glares up at him, but the standard, patronising smile flits onto her face the instance she sets a plate of handroll onto table eighteen. Isobel then stalks off, not bothering to acknowledge Kris’  _ hey– _ , leaving a large wave of confusion to wash over him. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“You scolded the wrong person, Bel.”

 

Isobel stiffens, her hands pausing in her now-daily routine of refilling sauce bottles before knocking off work. Errands be damned (not that there were any errands in the first place). Her hands now smell of a mixture of vinegar and soy sauce even after baths, but she doesn’t mind;  _ smells like the establishment _ , which she fondly calls her second home, anyway. 

 

She sees Lu Han sliding into the couch opposite hers, a familiar-looking scrap of paper pinched between his fingers, and it piques her curiosity so she gingerly asks, “Why do you have that?”

 

“I picked it up after you threw it at Kris.” Lu Han replies matter-of-factly, his fingers now toying with the tattered piece of paper. Isobel spies the faint scrawl of the number that riled her up in the afternoon, but now that she thinks about it, why on earth was she so furious at the incorrectly written number? She must have been crazy, some wire plugged incorrectly somewhere within her, causing that spur-of-the-moment insanity in front of customers–  _ oh my god I am going to be fired. The third time is always the charm, after all.  _ Isobel timidly glances at her manager.

 

“And you just mentioned that I scolded the wrong person…?” 

 

Lu Han nods, sliding the paper towards her and jerks his chin at it. Isobel bends her head slightly and eyes the messily written  _ katsu-don 68 _ . “Can you guess the relation between katsu-don and the number sixty-eight, Bel?” 

 

She replies in a heartbeat, “Sixty-eight corresponds to the item number of katsu-don–” Isobel then stops, and a sigh slips out of her lips. “ _ Huang Zitao… _ ” 

 

“He’s done it again,” Lu Han winces, his hands gently coaxing Isobel’s fingers to release their grip on the funnel and he stuffs in an opened bottle. Glancing up at her while he refills it, the manager muses softly, “So that only means that Kris…”

 

“It wasn’t his mistake.” Isobel finishes, and promptly slaps a hand on her forehead. “Shit.” 

 

“Yixing mentioned how traumatised he had looked after that sudden screamo you pulled on him, and I do want my female customers to continue streaming in during tomorrow’s lunch time so I let him leave early tonight.” Lu Han caps the filled bottle and reaches for another empty one but Isobel beats him to it and takes the funnel from his hands. With her head bowed low in what seems to be repentance, Isobel resumes her refilling with quiet movements. 

 

Watching her, Lu Han knows his job is done. It’s up to her, now.

  
  


\---

  
  


“What are you waiting for, Isobel Lee! Apologise to him already!”

 

Sehun jams his hands onto his hips, lips pulling into a tight line as he stares down at his ex-childhood friend. She tilts her head up for a short moment, eyes making contact with his, before looking back down at her half-filled bottle of vinegar sauce. She resumes her pouring. Sehun feels his exasperation nearing dangerously to its boiling point. Any second now and  _ boom _ , Oh Sehun is going to explode and his pretty innards are going to mess up Zitao’s mopped floor.

 

He keeps it in though, regulating his breathing as he fixes his eyes on the black roots of her dyed hair. Sehun makes a mental note to remind his friend to re-dye her hair; those black roots are hideous and  _ oh my gosh Kris probably sees that everyday holy shit _ . “It’s been, what, almost three days and you haven’t even said a single word to the poor dude.” 

 

Isobel scoffs, “Since when do you care about the new kid?” 

 

“He’s been here for a month, I don’t think he counts as a new kid any long–” Sehun stops himself. “–just, apologise.” 

 

“Like I said, since when do you care about Kris?” Isobel reiterates her question, her eyes not bothering to meet with her friend’s even though she knows that he’s been staring at her the whole time. “Are you guys friends or something?” 

 

“We’re colleagues, excuse you, and while I do want to be friends with him,” Sehun hesitates then, a recent memory swimming into his mind of Kris’ cold tone the last time they spoke. “He doesn’t seem too keen on it. I have no idea why.” 

 

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you.” 

 

Sehun gasps in mock horror and feigns being knocked down by an imaginary large fist, body flopping onto the empty couch opposite her. That stupid move elicits a laugh from Isobel who belatedly hisses when her hands accidentally knock down the bottle she was filling and vinegar sauce spreads over the table. “Ugh, Oh Sehun!” 

 

The boy in question sits up and his eyes widen immediately. Oh Sehun may be an ass but he has a conscience (somewhere), so he quickly bounds off to retrieve a rag. It takes less than three minutes for the pair of ex-childhood friends to clean the mess up and Sehun offers to wash the rags while Isobel continues to fill her bottles, otherwise _ we’d never go home at this rate _ . 

 

Isobel watches her friend traipse towards the kitchen, both dirtied towels cradled in his hands. Along the way, Sehun almost skids on Jongin’s mopped floor and she gasps in worry. He maintains his balance, though, and safely makes it to the kitchen. 

 

Isobel then finds herself smiling fondly (no one tell Sehun about this;  _ he’ll never let me live it down _ ) and shakes her head gently before continuing her job. A shadow soon appears in her peripheral vision, and thinking that Sehun has returned, Isobel looks up with the same smile still etched on her face, only for it to dissolve when she sees someone different instead.

 

“Kris...?” 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Why’d you come back?”

 

Isobel musters up whatever courage she has in her and manages to ask, even if she sounds like she’s dying and uttering her last words. She side-glances at her tallest-slash-wrongly-accused colleague but quickly drops her eyes when she finds him looking at her. 

 

“Since I’m off for tomorrow,” Kris tears his eyes away from her seconds later. “I thought I’d bring my apron home for some overdue washing.” 

 

“Oh,” Isobel breathes, eyes training themselves on the empty pavement that stretches endlessly ahead of them. She tries to not be overly conscious of how she’s walking home with him after a week or more of not doing so, of how she feels his warmth radiating off his skin, or of how  _ safe  _ she actually feels just by being next to him. Isobel tries, but fails. 

 

The short conversation lapses into silence, and Isobel fails to once again rein in her over-consciousness of the boy walking alongside her when she belatedly realises that the quietude is rather… comfortable. There’s no cloud of awkwardness descending upon her, no raining of droplets of  _ ooh how awkward you two are _ on her head. She doesn’t trip on her two (left) feet while walking, doesn’t try to keep her breathing to an inaudible volume for fear of disturbing him, doesn’t correct her steps even after noticing that she’s walking in sync with him. She’s just being, her. 

 

And Isobel smiles a little at that thought. 

 

“You seem rather happy all of a sudden.”

 

Kris’ voice breaks the tranquility of the night and snaps the girl out of her small, happy daze. Isobel darts her eyes up to his and catches him looking at her intently. The gaze seems to pierce through her and kind of makes her uncomfortable but Isobel can’t bring herself to look away. So she just stares back, eyes dropping a little to his lips when he continues speaking and Isobel mentally groans when those pink lips embark on Step One of gummy smile formation.  _ Damn.  _

 

“Did Sehun’s happiness infect you or something?”

 

Isobel shakes her head lightly. “Nah, I’m thinking of something.” 

 

“Mm,” Kris hums in reply and his eyes leave her, though he flits them back a second later and Step One plays across his lips again. “He seemed rather happy just now.” 

 

“Sehun’s crazy half the time, don’t mind him.” Isobel doesn’t elaborate. Kris doesn’t need to know that Sehun’s happy because the two of them are finally walking home together again, gladly 'sacrificing' their rare walk home together to let Kris walk her home. Instead, she looks ahead, the image of Step One on Kris’ lips freshly imprinted in her mind and Isobel breaks into a smile. It dissolves seconds later when a random thought shoots into her mind and Isobel slows her footsteps. Next to her, Kris does the same as confusion washes over him. “Is something the matter, Bel?”

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

Isobel lifts her head, eyes soft and glistening, and she hopes that her colleague will accept her earnest, heartfelt, full-of-guilt apology. “I’m sorry for flaring up at you. I’m sorry for wrongly accusing you for something that you didn’t do. I’m sorry that I ignored you after that. I’m sorry that this apology is so overdue. I’m sor–”

 

A long finger places itself on Isobel’s lips, silencing her instantly. Her eyes round themselves and a cool breeze blows at them then, but it does nothing to quell the warmth blossoming within her. Isobel tries to distract herself from the rising heat, willing her hands to remain by her side and not flit upwards to rub foolishly at her chest. 

 

“Stop apologising.” Step Two of gummy smile formation seizes Isobel’s breath, causing her to inhale sharply and Kris temporarily drops his smile in worry. His finger leaves the pink of her lips. “Are you–”

 

“I’m fine,” Isobel breathes, and tries to regulate her breathing. She reluctantly tears her eyes away from Kris’ face in order to accomplish that because  _ one more look and I might just go into cardiac arrest _ . “I’m okay.” 

 

“Are you sure?” Kris looks at her, and notices how she pointedly avoids meeting his eyes. An inexplicable bout of annoyance tugs at him but he shakes it off, and brings a hand up to her face. An index finger tucks itself under her chin and gently lifts her head. Isobel’s surprised eyes greet him and the annoyance within him immediately shapeshifts into yet another unexplainable emotion. Kris finds himself gazing at her until her voice breaks the silence. 

 

“I’m still very sorry though.” 

 

Her sudden apology makes Kris laugh and Isobel’s confused expression cracks him up even more as Kris attempts (but fails) to stifle his chortles. Finally realising that he’s laughing  _ at  _ her, Isobel bites on her lower lip and aims a kick at the giant’s shin but she softens at the last second and her shoe just grazes the fabric of his pants. She settles for staring ( _ read: admiring _ ) at him (and that  _ cursed gummy smile _ ) while he continues to wheeze, his attempts at trying to stop laughing somewhat working and moments later, Kris stops. 

 

“I…” Kris pants, long fingers wiping at his eyes as the corners of his lips twitch in a bid to stop curving upwards. “I think I’ve heard enough ‘I’m sorry’ for a lifetime.” He peers at Isobel, hoping that his joke had worked but the girl’s unamused face tells him otherwise and Kris mentally laments at his inability to crack jokes. “Okay, not funny…”

 

Silence descends upon them again and Isobel scuffs her shoes against the pavement. She waits for him to speak, waits for him to break the awkwardness that had begun to envelop them, waits for him to acknowledge her apologies because she just realised that he hasn’t exactly said  _ okay, I accept your apologies.  _ So Isobel waits and Kris doesn’t disappoint her. 

 

“Say…” He starts, a hand on the nape of his neck. “Are you free tomorrow?” 

 

“Yes…?” Isobel doesn’t know where this conversation is going but she doesn’t feel an urge to put a stop to his words, even when Kris begins to stutter and Isobel struggles to make out what his jumble of words mean. She gives up and returns to what she was originally doing — waiting. 

 

Kris stops himself, a large wave of embarrassment crashing onto him as he catches his colleague’s seemingly bored expression casted upon him. Kris gulps and wills his mind to right itself, to stop running a mile a minute, and just– just,  _ say it already _ . 

 

“C-Can–”

 

_ Just. _

 

“C-Can we–”

 

_ Fucking say. _

 

“Can w-we go out–”

 

_ It.  _

 

“Canwegooutonadatetomorrow?”

  
  


\---

  
  


In Isobel’s defense, as she kept reiterating to Sehun (and Jongin, and Zitao, and Lu Han, Yixing, Minseok, Chanyeol,  _ and _ Kyungsoo;  _ all these busybody men _ ) in their work-related group chat, it’s not a date. 

 

“It’s not a date!” Isobel screams into her phone when Sehun calls her for the tenth time in thirty minutes, his evil cackle ringing out from the phone and it fills her kitchen. Isobel almost dropped her mug of coffee the first time her ex-childhood friend called and his shrill of  _ congratulations dear friend!  _ ruthlessly slices the peace of her calm morning. She regretted picking it up but then again, he  _ is  _ her childhood friend ( _ read: ex _ ) so when Sehun called again, Isobel gritted her teeth and answered. Which brings us back to the current situation. 

 

“I am telling you,” Isobel punctuates each word with a stab of her finger into thin air. “It’s not a fucking date!” She imagines Sehun’s face in front of her, and smirks when fake-Sehun flinches under her finger’s constant, hard prods, a plea of  _ please stop, master Isobel, please stop destroying my pretty face _ slipping out of his mouth. Isobel doesn’t stop and continues to ruin his pretty ( _ read: gross _ ) visage. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. And sashimi is actually chicken in disguise.” Real-Sehun retorts. “Like I’d believe you, Bel.” 

 

“Fine, then tell me.” Isobel stops stabbing fake-Sehun for she feels a finger cramp coming, and drops her hand onto the dining table. She absentmindedly taps on her half-emptied mug of coffee instead. “How did you know that I’d be going out with the new kid today?” 

 

A snort that doesn’t sound like Sehun’s travels to her ear and Isobel pauses in her tapping. A flurry of voices suddenly enter the conversation and Isobel catches snippets of Minseok going  _ oiiii what the fuck? _ , and Kyungsoo’s  _ I am going to hold you responsible if she comes after me _ , and Lu Han’s  _ spare me master Kyungsoo _ –  _ Hold on.  _ “Is that  _ everyone _ ?” Disbelief washes over her when the voices go silent and she hears her answer loud and clear. 

 

“Oh my god,” Isobel groans. “Holy f–”

 

“No swearing!” Lu Han’s voice comes through the receiver and Isobel wishes to just fly over to the restaurant and slap her manager (and everyone) because here she is thinking of how Sehun’s at home because it’s his off-day too but  _ noooooo he’s at the restaurant for reasons unknown and oh, how the hell can everyone be listening in to our conversation when they should be FUCKING WORKING RIGHT NOW _ . “I don’t think I can handle anymore expletives because you know what, EVERYONE HERE WAS LITERALLY SCREAMING THEIR HEADS OFF THIS MORNING–”

 

“IT  _ IS _ MORNING YOU SORRY EXCUSE–”

 

“–WH– what?” Lu Han suddenly drops to a menacing whisper and Isobel hurriedly zips her mouth. “What did you want to say, Isobel Lee?” 

 

“Nothing.” She quips. “Nothing,  _ sir _ .” 

 

Lu Han seems to be pleased with the sudden respectful call and doesn’t probe any more. He does, however, try to get his only female employee to tell him where their date ( _ it’s not a date! _ ) would take them but Isobel just deadpans back that she doesn’t know. Isobel then remembers that Sehun hasn’t answered her question of how he (or everyone for that matter) knows that Kris had asked her out. 

 

“Oh, simple.” She hears Lu Han say instead of Sehun. “Kris told Kyung–”

 

“Kyungsoo!?” 

 

“–yeah. He texted him last night. They’re kind of like best buds now and Chanyeol feels threatened.” She hears her manager sigh. “Don’t tell him but I think Kyungsoo is better off with Kris inste– AIEEEEEE!” 

 

And the call abruptly ends.

 

Isobel just stares at nothing in particular but her mind, having been running a mile a minute the moment she woke up, concludes for the second time that yes, she does work with idiots. Lu Han the-only-other-serious employee included.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Sorry that you couldn’t order the large plate of sashimi.”

 

Kris pauses in the picking up of a tuna gunkan, the tips of his chopsticks grazing the sides of it. A beat later, he picks it up and shoves it in his mouth. Flecks of seaweed stick themselves to the corners of his mouth and Isobel lets out a grandmotherly sigh (that, according to Yixing, wouldn’t get her a boyfriend), before reaching over to wipe his lips with her napkin. She belatedly discovers, after putting down her napkin, that her hand had moved without her knowing. Isobel mutters a curse under her breath. 

 

Unbeknownst to Isobel, Kris had actually frozen for a few seconds, heart thumping erratically. He recovers quickly, though. “I didn’t know that you possess a rather  _ colourful  _ vocabulary of expletives.” Isobel feels an amused gaze on her. She wishes for a shovel to dig a hole and bury herself, but nope, no shovels allowed in a Japanese restaurant. Even if it’s a small and cramped roadside shop. Even if the girl is a frequent patron and often orders more than she can finish. “It’s funny.” 

 

“I don’t,” Isobel mutters grudgingly, her chopsticks trying to pick up strands of udon but those pesky strings keep slipping off. “It’s all Oh Sehun’s fault.” 

 

At the mention of her ex-childhood friend, Kris’ face falls. The amused grin dissolves immediately and a sour expression replaces it. Isobel doesn’t see the change, but she feels the mood around them darkening and hurriedly adds, “But it’s probably my fault too, y’know, some words just stick with you. Oh, the dark years of being a teenager.” She tries to joke, but it falls flat when she doesn’t hear Kris chuckling. 

 

“Sehun’s a big part of your life, huh. Even if he wasn’t around much during your childhood.” Kris mumbles, his chopsticks mutilating the other piece of tuna gunkan on his plate and Isobel feels sorry for the sushi that is suffering in place of her. She knows, somehow, that Kris doesn’t like Sehun, or probably anything in relation to her ex-childhood friend. She can’t fathom  _ why _ , but then again there are a million and one reasons to dislike Oh Sehun. Isobel can rattle off those reasons like a well-seasoned machine gun if you give her the time to. 

 

Yet, even as Isobel harbours a little tad of  ~~ dislike ~~ hatred for her ex-childhood friend and sympathises with anyone else who feels the same towards the boy, Isobel feels the need to hear, to  _ know _ why Kris doesn’t like Sehun. Was it something that he did? Was it something that he spoke which offended their new colleague (most of the time it’s  _ this  _ reason)? What was it? What caused Kris to not like Oh Sehun? 

 

(In Isobel’s defense, which she keeps repeating to herself later, that she doesn’t care about Oh Sehun one bit. Nuh uh. She just wants to satisfy her curiosity of wanting to know why Kris hates Sehun. Isobel doesn’t want to find out so as to tell Sehun to work on whatever he’s not doing right and be friends with the handsome colleague with the gorgeous gummy smile.) 

 

So Isobel asks,  _ why do you hate Sehun?  _ cautiously and slowly, as if afraid of setting off a time bomb that seems to reside in Kris whenever the name ‘Oh Sehun’ comes up. She doesn’t expect an answer right away, but she certainly didn’t expect a snigger and a gummy smile to be thrown her way. 

 

“I don’t  _ hate _ him!” Kris clarifies, his lips pulled into the gummy smile that Isobel admires ( _ read: loves _ ) so much. He sets down his chopsticks, mutilated tuna gunkan forgotten, and he clasps his large hands together. The gummy smile falters slightly and in Isobel’s mind, she yells  _ no no nooooo don’t disappear _ but in real life, she just maintains a straight face while she watches the smile fade completely and Kris’ eyes train themselves on something on their small table. She follows his gaze and finds herself staring at the small plate of sashimi. 

 

Isobel wonders why he’s looking at that, her mind running a mile a minute again to find out why when scenes of their ordering process swim into her head — where Kris was about to order the largest portion of sashimi for them to share when Isobel shrieked just before the waitress walked off with their orders that  _ I’m allergic to seafood  _ and the first thing that Kris asked was  _ does Sehun know this?  _ and Isobel noted his crestfallen expression when she nodded. 

 

She fathoms a thought in regards to that expression she saw —  _ because Sehun knows that I’m allergic to seafood while he doesn’t…? _ Technically no one at the establishment knows of her allergy because  _ hello _ , who in the right mind would work at a Japanese restaurant when you have a seafood allergy? Lu Han probably wouldn’t have hired her if he knew, and Isobel thinks back to the plates of salmon rolls Minseok prepares for her once in a blue moon, that she has to sneak off to Sehun and Jongin to polish off. 

 

Isobel mentally shakes her head, to remove those recollections from her thoughts before going back to the more important thought at that moment. She thinks about it for a few seconds, before murmuring a  _ you’re crazy Bel  _ and pushes it to the recess of her mind but before she does, Kris replies and Isobel quickly fishes back the thought because– 

 

“I’m jealous of him.” 

  
  


\---

  
  


Her eyes are slits. Her face holds remnants of a sleepless night spent tossing and turning in bed. Her hair is in a messy braid that Lu Han almost gave her hell for before he noticed how exhausted she looked and promptly sent her on his approved pre-work nap on the usual three-seater couch while he goes through the motion of retrieving her apron from her locker. 

 

So as Isobel absentmindedly wipes a table, she doesn’t realise that her  _ busybody men  _ are staring at her from the sushi counter. Openly. 

 

“Something must have happened yesterday,” Minseok speaks up first, his fingers pushing strands of his fringe into the hair net he dons everyday. He looks to Zitao for approval, and purses his lips when the younger employee reaches over to tuck several stray strands that he had missed. Minseok, however, doesn’t miss the  _ aww, so cute our Minseokkie in a hair net  _ expression on Zitao’s face and promptly issues a punishment in the form of a hard cheek pinch which caused Zitao to yelp in pain. 

 

He rubs at the spot, but seconds Minseok’s statement. “No kidding, something  _ must  _ have gone down in yesterday’s date.” Zitao looks to Kyungsoo who coincidentally looks at him and the latter sighs after seemingly receiving a non-verbal message from the former. “I’ll go text that idiot.” 

 

“Text who?” Chanyeol seems to have finally woken up, his mind beginning to process the situation he had gotten himself into and the first thing he properly hears is that his best-friend-slash-work-partner is going to message someone that is not him. “I’m right here, Soo. Who are you going to text?” 

 

The rest of the employees burst into varying degrees of mocking sniggers and Kyungsoo feels himself getting smaller (than he already is). He does a bad job of hiding his displeasure towards his best friend’s morning stupidity and dishes a hard punch to Chanyeol’s arm, causing Chanyeol to bellow a deep  _ ow what was that for!  _

 

Kyungsoo barely manages to not murder his work partner right there. Instead, he leaves the front of the sushi counter and makes a beeline for his own work space, choosing to abandon his stupid giant of a friend in the howls of his colleagues’ mockery. Kyungsoo regrets nothing. 

 

(Not even when Chanyeol enters the kitchen in the midst of Kyungsoo texting  _ that idiot _ and Chanyeol looks as though he’s been thrown off the cliff and fed to the sharks. 

 

Kyungsoo groans shortly after Chanyeol sidles up to him, kicked  giant puppy look and all, and tiptoes to softly ruffle his giant of a friend’s hair. All is well thereafter.)

  
  


\---

  
  


“Why didn’t you reply to my text?” was the first thing Kris hears the moment he steps into the establishment and he jumps in fright because Kyungsoo had somehow materialised beside him without him knowing. “Kyungsoo! What– How– Don’t do that! I have a weak heart…” Kris walks past the short chef, his eyes pretending to not notice a stern expression on Kyungsoo’s face and the phone he clutches in his small hand. 

 

He makes it to the back room and unlocks his locker, taking out his washed apron before shoving his bag into the small space. Kris bites on the fabric that smells faintly of pine as he turns the key, locking his locker, before stuffing it down his front pocket. He whirls around, hands taking the apron from his mouth when– “UGH KYUNGSOO!” 

 

“You still haven’t told me why you didn’t reply me.” 

 

Kris stares down at Kyungsoo, his stubbornness reflected in those large orbs of his, and Kris realises that he’s probably not going to be let go unless he gives his short colleague an answer. “Fine,” Kris brings the apron down to his waist and starts to wrap the long straps around his hips. “I was ill yesterday so I couldn’t reply. Happy?” 

 

“Excuses.” Kyungsoo immediately quips. “But fine, whatever. Now, reply to the question in my text.” His large orbs dart upwards to Kris’ and Kris mentally swears because  _ god, those eyes can hypnotise and send a man on a quest without even knowing what the quest holds _ , but he resists the searching gaze in Kyungsoo’s eyes to reply matter-of-factly, “Nothing happened.” 

 

The next thing Kris registers is his back unceremoniously meeting with the cold surface of the lockers as Kyungsoo’s dark and steeled countenance fills his sight. “Don’t lie to me, Kris Wu. I know that something happened so why don’t you just confess?” 

 

Kyungsoo’s hands tightly grip the collar of Kris’ polo shirt, giving him absolutely no way to escape because Kris (horrifically and admirably) discovers that his short colleague possesses the strength of a hundred bull elephants (he exaggerates). Kris attempts to budge but he can’t and promptly gives up struggling much to Kyungsoo’s surprise. “Giving up so soon?” 

 

“Why couldn’t you just ask her, why can’t you just ask Bel?” Kris says in exasperation. His fingers fumble with the straps of his apron for he hasn’t even completed the knot before Kyungsoo smashes him against the lockers. He’s surprised that none of the other employees have come rushing in upon hearing the commotion (and they probably should have if most of them had arrived by then). But then a thought dawns on Kris that  _ Kyungsoo probably told them to come late so he can jump on me like this  _ and  _ oh my god the horror stories that Minseok and Zitao have told me were probably true and I’m going to be hacked to death now.  _ He chuckles bitterly but still manages to hear Kyungsoo’s barely audible reply that seizes his breath. 

 

“I would if I could.” 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Where’s… Bel?” 

 

Sehun looks up from his barely-touched lunch to find the person, whom he has wanted to be friends with since the first week he started working, looking down at him, a bowl of Chanyeol’s staff lunch in his large hand. Yet, at that moment, Sehun doesn’t feel like he wants to be friends with the guy so he pointedly ignores the question and continues to prod at his mess of rice and miso soup. 

 

Kris swallows, clearly taken aback by his colleague’s lack of response (seeing how he has realised that Sehun had genuinely wanted to be friends with him). He stands at the table occupied by the servers, and musters the courage to sit down next to Zitao when– “Go sit at another table.” 

 

Jongin’s sharp words slice the silence of the restaurant, which is in the middle of taking its afternoon break, and Kris flinches. He backs away, eyes taking in the expressionless faces of the usually happy-go-lucky servers.  _ Shit _ , he thinks,  _ what on earth happened yesterday while I wasn’t here?  _ as he continues to back up until a hand touches the small of his back and Kris jumps in shock. He whirls around to find Yixing smiling up at him, though the happiness doesn’t reach his eyes, and the sushi chef gestures to his table. 

 

Kris darts his eyes to its occupants, sceptical at their acceptance of letting him sit at their table, but at Minseok’s sharp  _ are you going to sit down or not _ , Kris obediently slides onto the seat after Yixing. 

 

The table eats in silence as well, metal spoons scraping the insides of ceramic bowls with the occasional slurps of miso soup. Kris keeps his eating sounds to a minimum, terribly afraid of even a  _ ping  _ against the bowl igniting World War Three. And judging from the dirty looks Lu Han keeps throwing at him, Kris thinks the war isn’t too far away. 

 

Lu Han finishes his lunch first, his gentle voice of  _ thanks for the food Chanyeol  _ resounding in the quietude as he directs that statement to the next table where the kitchen chefs sit together. Kris hears a rather jolly grunt of acknowledgement from the taller chef and resists the urge to sneak a peek at that table as fear of the shorter chef arises within him. Nope, he doesn’t want to meet with death (in the form of a small, fearless cooking dude) a second time in a single day. 

 

Kris doesn’t realise that his table is waiting for his response until something cold meets with his forehead and pain reverberates in his head. He sees stars but Lu Han’s angry visage sharpens into view after the bout of dizziness clears. “H-Huh?” Kris dumbly hums.

 

“God, and I thought that the son of our boss would be smarter than this.” 

 

That effectively snaps Kris out of his daze and he shrieks, “WHAT THE F–”

 

“No. Expletives. In. My. Restaurant.” Lu Han calmly enunciates, his face straight and not betraying any form of anger, but his voice overshadows Kris' greatly and Kris shuts himself up. World War Three is averted (at least for awhile). 

 

Seeing Lu Han's less-than-amused expression, Kris carefully treads the ice that his manager has laid out, his steps slow and cautious. One wrong step would definitely mean disaster; or in this case, the inevitable war. So he speaks softly, gently, not a hint of hostility in his words. "Is something the matter?" 

 

Kris feels three pairs of eyes on him in an instant he asks. The gazes are a tad uncomfortable, but he can deal with it. He can deal with it if he wants answers to his questions. And he isn't disappointed when Lu Han answers. 

 

"Something?" His pitch goes high. "Something?  _ Something? _ " His pitch borders on a screech then, and the table's occupants visibly flinch but no one says anything. Kris waits, waits for Lu Han to settle down because the manager had somehow stood up whilst shrieking those three words, his hands gripping the edge of the table rather tightly. Kris sees the bones of his manager's knuckles and thinks of whispering to Yixing  _ um, help your boyfriend before his bones jut out would you?  _

 

But Kris just waits. 

 

Lu Han finally sits back down, his face scrunched up as if he just swallowed a whole lemon. The manager pinches the ridge of his nose and it's then does Yixing reach over with both hands and gently massages his boyfriend's temples with his thumbs. Kris wants to look away, like Minseok has done with a roll of his eyes, but he doesn't. Instead he watches, and waits, as Yixing continues to rub circles on Lu Han's temples while the latter breathes. A faded image of Kris’ thumbs upon a girl’s temples swims into his mind and he realises that  _ Bel _ –

 

"I'm okay," Lu Han says shortly after. Yixing promptly removes his thumbs, but his worried expression remains on his face. "Thanks Xing." An affectionate expression flits onto Lu Han's face then and Yixing simply smiles in return. The lovey-dovey exchange has Minseok mock-vomiting, and Lu Han pulls his colleague into a headlock. 

 

Kris still watches, and waits, as Lu Han releases Minseok from his arm and earns himself a smarting whack on the arm. The noise echoes in the empty restaurant and from somewhere comes laughter of a low baritone.  _ Chanyeol _ , Kris thinks. And to his credit, Lu Han hollers a  _ shut up if you want your paycheck Park Chanyeol!  _

 

By then, Minseok has left the table and so has Yixing. The latter leaves with a nod to his boyfriend, and Kris catches a knowing smile on Yixing's face directed to Lu Han before he traipses to the kitchen. Now, only Lu Han remains at the table. Kris is still waiting. 

 

"Bel won't be coming, if you're wondering." 

 

"I realised that," Kris replies, his eyes still on Lu Han's. "Did something happen to her while I wasn't here yesterday?" 

 

Lu Han keeps silent, and Kris gets his answer. "What happened?" 

 

"She was already out of it, out of sorts the moment she reported for work." Lu Han drags a hand through his hair, and rests it at the nape of his neck. He drops his eyes from Kris', fixing them on his empty bowl instead. "I should have sent her back, I should have made her return home. But I didn't, and it happened." 

 

"What happened?" By then, Kris' curiosity level has spiked. His large hands grip the bowl tightly, and Kris feels that if he's not careful, the ceramic bowl might actually shatter. He quickly places his hands on his lap, letting his fingers seek purchase within the pliable fabric instead. "What actually happened, Lu Han?"

 

At the call of his name, Lu Han looks up and Kris' breaths seize when he sees tears glistening in his manager's eyes.  _ Fuck.  _

 

"She," Lu Han begins, his voice so soft, barely audible,  _ vulnerable _ . "Bel, she–"

 

"Bel spilt boiling shoyu soup on herself and suffered burns on her forearms." Kris hears another voice that's not Lu Han's and he tilts his head upwards to find Sehun's hardened visage looking down at him. "She went to the A&E yesterday but she's currently at home now, nursing her wounds." 

 

Kris feels his mouth opening and closing, as he tries to process the information. His mind, taking a break like his owner, starts to whir, trying to bring its speed back to a-mile-a-minute. Kris continues to stare at Sehun, whose face continues to be in a perpetual state of blank even as he says to Lu Han that  _ Kris would be leaving now,  _ and that Sehun will cover his shift duties. 

 

Kris does a double take, his mouth now forming an 'o'. "W-What, Sehun! Why are you–" 

 

"I fucking swear–" (Lu Han doesn't respond to that, and Kris momentarily thinks,  _ bias _ ) "–if you don't sort things out with Bel, I will personally murder you in cold blood." Sehun drops his face down to Kris' and treats Kris to a  wonderful view of his stormy eyes (sans nostrils). "I will, Kris Wu,  _ I will _ ." 

 

Kris only feebly nods. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Isobel peers up from her book when she hears the doorbell ring. She gets up, when the person starts to think that ringing doorbells consecutively is an idea of fun, and stomps over to her front door. She opens it without consulting the peephole. Big mistake. 

 

Kris dashes in, amidst her splutters of  _ w-what Kris!? _ , and whirls around when he realises that the person he's looking for had just opened the door for him. "What are you doing here?" Isobel stands in the porch, still clad in her pajamas, the pair of black-rimmed spectacles perched upon her nose. “How are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work–”

 

Isobel suddenly finds her hands the objects of Kris’ scrutiny as his large ones gently lift them up and Kris almost glues his eyes upon her palms. He sees no wounds on her hands, and proceeds upwards to her forearms where Sehun had mentioned she had burnt herself at. He lays his eyes on them, and Isobel’s pale,  flawless burn-less skin greet them. There’s no burn. There’s no sign of her forearms even being scalded. 

 

_ Eh. Huh. Huh??????! _

 

_ OH SEHUN YOU SON–  _

 

Kris lets out a noise that sounded like a strangled gurgle and brings Isobel’s forearms to his forehead. He parts his lips and a half-relieved-half-embarrassed sigh escapes. His knees sink to the floor and Isobel stares at her colleague in utter bewilderment.  _ What the fuck is going on _ , she thinks as warm breaths pepper her skin and she suppresses the urge to scratch at that spot where Kris’ forehead meets with her forearms.

 

Instead, she begins, “Um, would you mind telling me what’s going on, Kris?” 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“Huh?” Isobel doesn’t understand, her brows furrowing in confusion as she watches Kris stand up. “What for?”

 

“I messed up,” Kris murmurs, his eyes trained on Isobel’s pale hands and he unconsciously slides his large hands down to hers. He doesn’t feel Isobel’s sudden jerk, her body stiffening, and continues, “I actually believed Kyungsoo, and Lu Han, and Sehun and  _ oh my god _ , this is embarrassing.” 

 

Warmth between her fingers snaps Isobel out of her blank state and her eyes immediately flit to her hands where she sees the spaces between her fingers occupied by Kris’ fingers. The scene seizes her breath and she would have reverted back to her frozen state if not for the mention of the names.

 

“W-Wait, I heard names.” Isobel finally says. “Please tell me I didn’t hear–” And Kris’ curt nod flings Isobel’s hopes out the window. She composes herself, though, and rights herself as she asks with much caution, “What… did those idiots do now?”

 

“Sehun told me that you scalded your arms with shoyu soup during work yesterday.” Kris explains, his eyes sneaking a glance at her but he quickly drops them when Isobel’s eyes meet with his. He fixates them back onto her pale skin instead. “And that you went to the A&E and–”

 

“And you believed him?” Isobel could hardly believe her ears. She had always thought that Kris has more sense than this. How could he actually believe in her ex-childhood friend’s absurd words. “You really trusted his words?”

 

“How could I not?” 

 

A wave of courage unknowingly washes over Kris and it does wonders to him. Kris finds himself able to lift his head up, his eyes able to slowly wander upwards until they find solace in the girl’s very own. He also finds his mind gradually unclouding itself, thoughts becoming legible and strings of sentences arrange themselves into coherence. He doesn’t say all that, though. Kris only says two words that his mind had deemed most important at that moment. 

 

They are important, but the words render Isobel’s mind a blank and she finds herself falling backwards as her world suddenly goes black. 

 

_ “It’s you.”   _

  
  


\---

  
  


Isobel wakes up to a dark room. She blinks several times to accustom her sight to the darkness and realises that someone had drawn the blinds over the windows. Her eyes then scan the room and  _ oh, it’s my room.  _ A stream of cool air blows at her arms and Isobel turns her head to find her standing fan switched on. It’s oscillating and the tendrils of her hair tickle her forehead when the wind blows at her head. 

 

Beyond the fan, on the floor was a weak ray of light that shone through a small gap between the door and the doorframe. Someone had left the door open. Someone had switched on the fan. Someone had–

 

Wait.  _ Why am I in bed?  _

 

Isobel sits up, a soft moan of pain breaking the silence of her room as blood suddenly rushes to her head and black stars dot her vision. With a hand clutching her head, she slowly places her feet flat on the floor and winces when her soles meet with the cold surface. The fan must have been switched on for quite some time. 

 

She shuffles forward, fingers reaching towards the buttons on the fan and she switches it off. Isobel then pads towards the door, fingers gently curving around the edge of the door and she pulls it towards her. She pokes her head outside. The hallway is dark, save for a rather wide, bright ray of light that illuminates the wall opposite the kitchen at the beginning of the hallway. 

 

_ Strange _ , Isobel muses as she tiptoes towards the light,  _ mum and dad aren’t home for the weekend and I don’t recall ever switching on the kitchen lights _ . Her hands slide silently across the walls as she makes her way towards the beginning of the hallway.  _ Oh my god,  _ something dawns on her and she stops,  _ could it be a thief?  _

 

Isobel proceeds with more caution, her breathing kept to a minimum as she finally reaches the end of the wall she had been leaning on for support, her fingers curling around the edge. She inches her head forward, eyes peering and they widen when the back view of someone tall and simply  _ humongous _ greet her. 

 

Somehow, the sleep that she woke up from did something to her, for Isobel just screams at the top of her voice and crumples onto the floor. The sleep must have rewired her sense of logic  _ somehow _ , for she continues to scream, hands gripping each other tightly in front of her chest, her eyes shut. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t let the volume of her scream drop until she feels a pair of hands around her shoulders and her eyes flutter open even though her brain yells  _ no don’t do it DON’T OPEN YOUR FUCKING–  _

 

“Kris…?” 

 

A gummy smile fills her sight and Kris’ face sharpens into ultimate high definition as she blinks her eyes rapidly, disbelief washing over her. “H-How–”

 

“A simple ‘I’m awake’ should be the first thing someone would say when they awake from a three-hour nap,” Kris brushes strands of hair out of Isobel’s eyes and he tucks a bunch behind her ears. He sees colour in her cheeks and stifles a knowing chuckle, settling for a mock cough instead. “And not a bloodcurdling screamo.” 

 

Kris chuckles then. “Though, you do seem to enjoy screaming at people.” 

 

Isobel hears the jab at her previous screamo at him in Kris’ words, and a scoff slips out of her lips before she registers it. She doesn’t regret it, even as the gummy smile dissolves into a pout (which Isobel thinks is equally adorable  _ oh my god I am a sucker for pouts too SOMEONE HALP ME _ ) and Isobel clenches her fists to prevent her fingers from pinching those lips. 

 

“I’m kidding,” And the pout reverts back into the gummy smile that instantly brightens Isobel’s mood and she cracks a small smile. “There we go! A smile, finally.” 

 

Isobel lets Kris pull her up from the floor and to the dining table. She plops herself onto a chair as Kris switches on the stove and places a lid over a large pot positioned over the fire. She lets her curiosity get the better of her, a  _ what are you cooking?  _ starting a conversation where Kris would tell her that he had prepared Japanese hot pot. Isobel would then express her surprise at Kris’ ability to cook, in which a deep, scandalised scoff would follow after and Kris would explain that it’s because his family owns a Japanese restaurant. 

 

“Then, why are you working in our restaurant OH MY GOD YOU ARE A STEALER OF KYUNGSOO AND CHANYEOL’S RECIPES–”

 

“I am not–”

 

“–THAT IS WHY YOU BECAME SOO’S NEW BEST FRIEND AND–”

 

“–a–”

 

“–POOR YEOL IS ALONE OH MY GOD KRIS–”

 

“–thief–”

 

“–YOU MMPHFG–”

 

Isobel’s eyes dilated to the size of Kyungsoo’s (larger, perhaps). She feels the speeding up of her blood flow, hears the thunderous, erratic beats of her heart, and feels an inexplicable tsunami of heat rushing towards her face. Isobel’s going to implode. 

 

Because of a pair of lips on  _ her  _ lips. 

 

Kris’ eyes had shut themselves. He had closed them before he stood next to her and dipped his head down to hers, his lips pressing themselves against hers. Kris feels an inexplicable surge of warmth coursing through his body, hears the roars of his heartbeats, and feels the flutter of wings in his stomach. Kris is going to explode. 

 

Because of his lips on  _ hers _ . 

 

They stayed like that, a chaste lip-on-lip kiss, for a minute before Kris pulls away with a noisy inhalation that Isobel thinks would rival Sehun’s snores. (She would know because she’s actually had the misfortune to let herself be coerced into a stayover at the boy’s house some time back. The poor girl never slept a wink that night.) 

 

Isobel inhales too, in deep, quiet breaths unlike Kris whose inhalations really do remind Isobel of her ex-childhood friend’s insanely loud snores.  _ Did we even stop breathing for a long time _ , she thinks,  _ didn’t we like just kiss for a minute– OH MY GOD WE JUST K-KI–  _

 

She shrieks in realisation, startling Kris who literally jumps on the spot but he recovers quickly and kneels in front of his colleague. He places his hands over hers, and Isobel shudders slightly when the cold from his skin stings hers. “Are you cold?” Kris mumbles at an inaudible decibel, as though he wants no one to hear it but Isobel knows that he’s asking her because his eyes are gazing at hers. 

 

And Isobel is unable to find it in her to look away even though she knows her face is red as Kyungsoo’s kimchi spaghetti and her blood pressure is as high as Minseok’s alcohol tolerance. Her heart is probably beating at the same insane speed that Chanyeol uses to beat eggs (and this is saying a lot because that giant of a chef possesses an insane egg-beating speed). She’s afraid of Kris hearing them, but she reckons he probably hears them loud and clear; the kitchen had, after all, descended into deafening silence. Isobel swears that she hears the softening of the glass noodles in the hot pot on the stove next to them. 

 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for some time.” 

 

Isobel blinks. “Some time…?”

 

Kris nods, a tinge of pink colouring his cheeks. “Yeah, since the night we walked home together, actually.” 

 

“Oh,” Isobel blinks again. “I see.”

 

“You don’t seem surprised. Were you perhaps… waiting?” A growing smirk creeps onto Kris’ face and it’s so unfitting yet so handsome on his countenance that Isobel half-wants to press her lips against those lips again and half-wants to slap it right off despite her heart saying otherwise because  _ why hit the person that you like, Bel?  _

 

Isobel wants to rebut her heart’s advice but… “No,” She finds herself saying, her ears picking up on the subtle betrayal of uncertainty in her words and Isobel wants to cut her ears off. And probably cut her tongue off while she’s at it. “I wasn’t.” 

 

“Are you sure?” Kris’ tone clearly depicts that he doesn’t believe her. 

 

“I’m sure.” Isobel clearly doesn’t believe herself either. She can hear the uncertainty in this one too.  _ Fuckkkkkk.  _

 

“Liar,” Kris softly says, the smirk changing to  _ oh, Step One  _ of gummy smile formation, and Isobel wills herself to just shut up and pretend that she hasn’t seen Step Two and  _ ugh fuck GUMMY SMILE  _ (SOMEONE HALP ME). “Though, I know that you adore my gummy smile.” 

 

The fucker gummy-smiles  _ wider _ . 

 

Isobel  faints tries hard to remain conscious, her eyes choosing to look at Kris’ nose instead but she finds them straying south to the ( _ kyaaaaaa _ ) gummy smile for several split seconds on end until Kris notices the millimetre distance her pupils travel. 

 

He shoves his face right in front of her. 

 

“Admit it,” He whispers, the gummy smile unmoving. “You like me.” 

 

Isobel doesn’t know where Kris’ sudden boost in self-confidence comes from, or how a visit from her colleague somehow escalated into something as ridiculous and far-fetched as what she’s experiencing then. She also doesn’t know how to respond to Kris’ accusation. 

 

So she doesn’t. And she doesn’t need to because the rattle of ceramic against ceramic breaks the atmosphere and Isobel just points to the trembling lid of the pot. Kris gets the hint immediately, a grandfatherly sigh slipping past his lips and he stands. While Kris tends to the boiling hot pot, Isobel flees to the bathroom, her feet slipping on the lacquer flooring along the way. 

 

She stumbles into the bathroom, hands clumsily shutting the door behind her, fingers fumbling with the lock but at the sound of a  _ click _ , Isobel crumples. Her chin rests on her knees that she had pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her shins and she leans against the door. The white of the bathroom’s tiled walls fill her vision, the opened glass door blurring together with the white tiles as Isobel gradually spaces out. Her senses tune out everything; she feels nothing, smells nothing, sees nothing,  _ hears  _ nothing. 

 

Though a loud turning of the door knob rouses Isobel from her seemingly comatic state, and she finally hears him. His worried voice travels past the door and into her ears. “Bel, are you okay?” It’s a little muffled but Isobel hears it loud and clear. She doesn’t respond to it, though. 

 

The gentle knocks escalate into sharp, constant knocks after a while and Isobel’s back feels as if it’s getting a massage what with Kris’ fist pounding on it after he hears no response from inside the bathroom. 

 

_ Shit _ , Kris thinks, his fist now pounding on the door much more frantically after the tenth minute of her disappearance into the bathroom passes,  _ did something happen to her?  _ He stops knocking at the thirteenth minute, a bout of numbness infiltrating his fist and he sits right in front of the door to massage it. He knows that Isobel’s inside, but he doesn’t know why she’s not replying to his calls, to his pleas. Did he offend her? Did he do something that had displeased her? 

 

“Was it the kiss, Bel?” Kris asks, his forehead resting against the cool surface of the wooden door. “Was the kiss too much for you?” 

 

_ Did I read the signs wrong?  _

 

Kris still doesn’t hear anything and he’s so worried about her but is unable to do anything because one, he doesn’t have the key to the bathroom and two, he can’t possibly ram the door open and risk getting Isobel hurt if she’s leaning against the door.  _ Three _ , he deliberates as he lets his hands slip to the centre of his crossed legs,  _ I’m not psychic so I can’t  _ **_feel_ ** _ if she’s near the door and is able to hear me.  _

 

But Kris tries. “Bel, are you in there? Can you hear me?” 

 

Isobel hears him as if she’s right next to him. She hears the extreme worry in his tone, hears the subtle hint of affection if she reads between the lines, but most of all, she hears how desperate he’s slowly becoming. Isobel isn’t foolish, she knows approximately how long she’s locked herself in the bathroom. Probably the sixteenth minute, she concludes as her arms peel away from her shins.  _ Should I respond now…?  _

 

A barely audible sigh slips out of Isobel's lips and it breaks the silence of the bathroom. She finally responds. "I'm here, and I hear you loud and clear." 

 

Kris' own sigh of relief cuts the silence that followed Isobel's long-awaited reply but the break doesn't last long for quietude descends upon them again. 

 

"Was it the kiss?" Kris tries again, and he really hopes that Isobel would reply him because he doesn't know how long more he can withstand without breaking the door down and taking her into his embrace. Eighteen minutes of torture is pushing his patience. "Was it the kiss, Bel?"

 

_ It is.  _ Isobel thinks, but she thinks deeper and a thought dawns on her that  _ perhaps, it's me _ . Isobel has always known of her attraction to the tall male. The gummy smile was what that had caught her eye, and as she got to know him through work, she found herself falling deeper and deeper. 

 

She had tried to suppress it, the feelings for her colleague, but it’s hard when every day she sees him building up camaraderie with the rest of the boys where he chats with the chefs, helps Lu Han out at the cashier, and jokes with the servers. He also storms together with her through the busy hours of lunch and dinner, reminding her to  _ watch your step  _ or  _ don’t spill ice cream onto people’s heads _ . (Isobel would then promptly scoff and roll her eyes; but she smiles when the boy is out of sight.) 

 

Kris’ helpfulness doesn’t help either; Isobel probably shouldn’t have allowed him to grab whatever things she couldn’t, or help her to refill the sauce bottles. Isobel probably also shouldn’t have allowed him to walk home with her, or dart her eyes over to him every now and then because somehow, Kris always seems to be smiling that  _ fucking gummy smile  _ whenever she does that. She’s convinced that Kris must have cast some spell upon her because  _ there is no way a smile can capture my entire attention from the get-go. No fucking way. _

 

So as Isobel stands up, hand trembling while it grips the doorknob, she suddenly reconsiders her choice of opening the door to face Kris. She still doesn't know how to respond to Kris' accusation even though the answer is flashing with alarm bells ringing wildly in her mind. In the end, Isobel remains rooted to the tiles of the bathroom while hoping that her cowardice doesn't scare him off. “It isn’t.” 

 

“Are you sure?” His deep whisper answers her and Isobel’s resolve to stay separated from him begins to crumble. Her hand remains on the knob but she feels the urge to turn it despite her mind yelling at her not to because  _ what are you going to do when you open the door?  _

 

Isobel doesn’t know the answer to that. But, she answers Kris’ question. “I’m sure, Kris. It’s not the kiss.” 

 

“Then what is it? Why are you locking yourself in the bathroom? Because if it isn’t something that I did, then, what is it? Bel,  _ what is it? _ ” Isobel hears the exasperation and the urge to turn the knob intensifies. She swears she hears a barely audible creak of the knob. 

 

“It’s me. It’s not the kiss, it’s me. I’m the one who can’t come to terms with what I’m feeling. I can’t accept that I have feelings for you all because of a single gummy smile. I cannot fathom why,  _ how  _ a smile can cause my heart to pound, can cause breathlessness, and can cause me to trip on my feet and get ice cream in a customer’s hair because fuck, it’s just a  _ smile _ . I don’t understand.” And before she registers what she has done, Isobel has already opened the door, the creak of the knob disturbing the silence of the apartment, and she faces Kris, her glistening orbs capturing his in an instant. “ _ I don’t understand, Kris _ .” 

 

They stare at each other for seconds that seem to be like minutes before Kris steps forward and circles an arm around Isobel’s hip, long fingers gently wrapping around the curve of her waist and he brings her closer to him. Their bodies are flush against each other’s and Kris dips his head down to hers. His eyes never looked away because he realises that he can’t. He feels her breath peppering his chin and his heart begins to thump, erratic beats overriding his rhythmic pulse and he thinks how a cardiac arrest doesn’t seem too impossible in the near future. A future that includes Isobel. 

 

“How about,” Kris brings their foreheads together and unconsciously positions his lips right in front of hers. He feels her breaths on his lips now and the warmth drives him over the edge. 

 

“I help you to understand.” 

 

He pushes forward and presses his lips on hers. A soft, satisfied moan rises up his throat and melts into the heated atmosphere that had somehow descended upon them as Kris continues to capture her lips. He tilts his head, hands leaving her waist to cup her face and he gently moves her head in the opposite direction to gain more access to her mouth. A muffled squeal causes his closed eyes to fly open but at the sight of Isobel’s coloured face and lashes trembling upon crimson cheeks, an inexplicable surge of absolute delight courses through him and he bravely charges forward with a gentle probe of his tongue. 

 

Isobel squeaks in surprise, the sound causing her lips to part and Kris snatches up the chance to slip his tongue into her mouth. It finds company and Kris wants to dance eagerly, his tongue inviting her. Isobel hides, dodges, and evades his advances but as Kris persistently continues to court her, his hands having slid back to her waist and she feels warmth in the form of calloused thumb pads on her bare skin, Isobel’s wall of defense disintegrates into bricks of wants, desires,  _ needs _ . 

 

Her next move frightens her when her hands, that had been resting limply by her side, skims up the front of Kris’ shirt and her fingers find purchase in the collar. Isobel yanks it down without hesitation, bringing Kris nearer to her as she begins to conquer with her lips. She kisses him needily as though she might never get to do so again. The sudden increase of lip movement causes Kris to freeze momentarily but if anything, it doesn’t frighten him. In fact, it only cements a thought that had surfaced in his mind the instance Kris feels Isobel kissing him back. He bites back a knowing smile.

 

_ She does like me.  _

  
  


\---

  
  


“I’m glad that I don’t have to murder you in cold blood.” is the first thing Kris hears when he steps into the establishment. He was in the midst of a morning stretch, long arms above his head and his lips pulled into a wide yawn, when a whisper shatters his bubble of morning peace and Kris promptly shrieks and jumps, extremely startled. Sehun appears next to him, a shit-eating grin on his face. Tell no one this but Kris would very much like to  _ murder Senior Sehun in cold blood _ . 

 

Sehun notices Kris’ lack of response, despite a large hand coming up to his chest and it rubs at it while its owner silently walks to the back room, and the grin falters slightly. “Don’t tell me you really thought that I’d kill you if you didn’t sort things out with Bel?” The senior tilts his head upwards a little, a tad of annoyance seeping into him because  _ ugh Jongin was right, I  _ **_am_ ** _ shorter than this dude.  _ Sehun shakes the sudden random thought out of his mind, and his eyes take in Kris’ blank expression that seem to neither agree nor deny Sehun’s accusation. “Wait, you can’t be serious–.” 

 

“Glad to know that you took idiot Sehun’s threat.” 

 

Another voice enters the fray and both servers turn their heads to the door as Lu Han steps in. Both Kris and Sehun cringe when their eyes rest on their manager, and they quickly look away because Lu Han was positively  _ glowing _ . Their eyes hurt from the blinding rays of whatever he’s emanating. Tell no one this but Kris and Sehun probably think that their manager got a very satisfying lay (pun intended) last night. 

 

And he’s humming. Lu Han never hums. Never. Something must have happened (sans Yixing and Lu Han and naked bod–  _ ewwwww no! _ ). Both Kris and Sehun fear for their lives, bodies freezing, breaths stilling when Lu Han sidles up to them and opens his locker, located right next to Sehun’s, to stash his belongings. His bag was unzipped and Sehun curiously glances towards it but instantly wishes he hadn’t. Curiosity definitely killed the innocence of Sehun the cat — amongst the mess of stuff in the manager’s bag, Sehun swears that he saw a polaroid of,  _ ugh my eyes!! _ , Yixing in his birthday suit. Why did the pair of colleagues-slash-cohabiting-boyfriends feel the need to photograph such an obscenity is beyond the young server’s comprehension so Sehun keeps his mouth shut. (That’s bullshit. He just wants to continue working here and get free sushi at the end of the day because they all live for Minseok and Yixing’s  _ wondrous  _ sushi.) 

 

“How’s Bel?” Lu Han asks, a knowing smile forming on his face as he deftly ties his apron around his waist. He turns to face his colleagues, not noticing the stiffness in their movements as they turn to face him as well. Kris offers a vague shrug of his shoulders, once again neither agreeing nor denying. Lu Han’s smile drops, a frown replacing it. “You… did sort things out with her, right?” 

 

Kris blinks, and thinks that he can probably answer that question. “I did.” 

 

“And…?” Lu Han probes, his fingers now jammed into the pockets of the apron that has been tied around his waist. His body is tilted forward and Kris wonders if his manager realises that his face is about to cross the ocean between them to meet with his chest. Next to Lu Han, Sehun is slowly wrapping the strings of his own apron around his waist while his eyes fixate themselves upon Kris’. A non-verbal  _ go on  _ swims in his orbs. 

 

“And…” Kris licks his lips, mind trying to paraphrase the words  _ I’M DATING HER NOW WOOOOOOOO OH YEAH SOMEONE BRING OUT THE CHAMPAGNE AND ASDKSKFJDSKF I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS CAN YOU SENIOR LU HAN SENIOR SEHUN no of course you can't HAHAHAHAH  _ into a sentence that would be more coherent and less obnoxious. Yes, definitely something less obnoxious. Lu Han-the-manager and ex-childhood-friend-Sehun would definitely appreciate a  _ calmer  _ reply. A reply such as, “We’re together now.” 

 

Lu Han glows even brighter and Sehun just, shines. Dazzles. Glows. FUCKING EMANATES RAYS OF LIGHT that render Kris unable to open his eyes. He thinks he’s gone blind (and thinks that his girlfriend wouldn’t be too happy about his sudden blindness, no thanks to her only-serious colleague and  _ ex _ -childhood friend). 

  
  


\---

  
  


Contrary to Kris’ expectations, his girlfriend doesn’t get upset. Instead, she laughs at his plight and mimics an action of shoving sunglasses onto her face, a smug smile appearing to complete her laugh-at-my-boyfriend look. Kris pouts and stalks off, cloth clenched tightly in hand. 

 

Isobel lets out a soft snicker but soon stops when she feels someone coming up to her. She doesn’t need to look because a second later, Sehun’s voice informs her of his presence. “Already bullying your boyfriend on the first day of dating?” From the corners of her eyes, Isobel sees her childhood friend shaking his head in mock disbelief. “How cruel, Bel, how bad of a girlfriend you are.” 

 

“Oh, shut up. Like you’re any better,” Isobel smacks a hand against Sehun’s arm, ignoring the slide of his lower lip as he pouts.  _ His pout is nowhere as adorable as Kris’ _ , she thinks and promptly blushes. Sehun notices the colour surging to her cheeks and raises a brow, but he doesn’t comment anything. He just ruffles her hair, earning himself yet another smack on the arm for good measure. It hurts but Sehun feels the friendly affection inflicted and it sends warmth through his body. “You made that girl cry just by holding onto her hand. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that you wore one of those electricity hand thingies to electrocute her.”

 

Sehun quickly glances away, a seemingly innocent expression flitting onto his face. He bats his eyelids innocently when Isobel gapes at him. “Seriously? You really did wear those–” 

 

“In my defense, that was when we were in elementary school and you must have lost your memories or something because  _ hello _ ,” Sehun rolls his eyes and places the back of a hand against his childhood friend’s forehead. “I didn’t even want to go out with her.” At that, Isobel suddenly breaks into a sheepish smile that doesn’t dispel Sehun’s growing scowl. “ _ You  _ were the one who went ahead and did things on your own.” 

 

“Oops? My bad?” The girl offers an apologetic smile. Sehun is still scowling. "I'm sorry?" Sehun is  _ still _ scowling. "I'm sorry, Sehun... senior?" Sehun tries but fails, and cracks into a smile. 

  
  


\---

  
  


"Our first date and you're late." 

 

From afar, Kris could already feel a massive aura of fury and when he finally sees Isobel, his eyes falling upon a familiar bed of brown hair as he slips through the insane subway crowd, a scowl of epic proportions greets him. Kris ducks his head, his lips trying their hardest to not break into a fond smile even though his girlfriend is currently the epitome of a very angry-at-her-late-boyfriend person. 

 

"I'm so sorry," Kris runs over, his face rearranging itself into a weak expression. He apologizes, body folding into half as he sinks into a deep bow which he thinks it's appropriate and probably needed in order to appease the still-scowling girl in front of him. "I got lost on the subway."

 

It isn't Kris' pout, or his apology, that causes Isobel's anger to diminish and the frown on her face to slip away. "You," The corner of her lips begin to tug upwards. "Got lost on the subway." An incredulous smile has formed by then. " _ You got lost on the subway!? _ " 

 

Kris stares at her, as if his words don't seem at all strange to him. "Um, yes? Is it weird to get on the wrong line, alight at the wrong station and somehow just… get lost?” Kris observes how Isobel’s expressions drastically change from surprise, to disbelief, to a blank, and to the final about-to-explode-into-laughter. “Bel… You’re not helping me here…” 

 

Isobel wipes imaginary tears from her eyes, taking in her boyfriend’s growing frown at the expense of her delight. “What am I supposed to be helping you with? And besides, how can anyone get lost on the subway? I don’t under–” And as though the phrase  _ I don’t understand  _ is an enchantment, Isobel suddenly stops as the memory of Kris kissing her senseless (she exaggerates) after answering  _ that  _ question flits into her head. A wave of heat washes over her and she quickly drops her head down to avoid Kris’ curious gaze. 

 

If Kris has caught on as to why Isobel has suddenly halted in her words, he doesn’t pursue it. Instead, he awkwardly rubs his nape with a large hand and quietly replies, “I… don’t get out on public transport much.” He drops to a whisper that becomes barely audible above the din of the never-ending bustle of the subway crowd. “Since I drive all the time.” 

 

Isobel only catches the movement of his lips (thereby sending another wave of  _ eep!  _ blush through her), since the noise around them really do not allow her ears to hear anything else except the incessant chatter of bustling people. And she can’t lip-read so with a shrug, Isobel just takes down the first part of Kris’ reply and ignores the addition. She brings her hand up, eyes checking the time told by her watch and lets out a strangled shriek that catches Kris’ attention, a worried  _ Oh my god did something happen Bel– Wait, where are we going woah!  _ slipping out of his mouth.

 

Kris stumbles forward and his eyes dart to the front where his hand is gripped by another. Absolute elation and warmth flood him as he gleefully takes in their joined hands, Isobel’s fingers slowly slipping into the spaces between his and soon their hands are intertwined. Kris lets himself be pulled out of the station and onto the equally-bustling street. His eyes trail upwards, away from their hands, to rest upon Isobel’s back.  _ She’s small _ , he thinks as he notes her narrow and seemingly thin shoulders. He also notices the way her shirt hugs her waist and an inexplicable surge of heat washes over him, particularly in his fingertips because he suddenly remembers the soft, smooth skin those fingertips have felt under them when he had ki– 

 

“Are you okay, Kris?” 

 

Isobel’s concerned voice snaps him out of his reverie and when his vision sharpens, his girlfriend’s worried expression fills his sight. Kris blinks a couple of times before shaking his head. "Ah, I'm okay. I was just... thinking." 

 

She laughs. "Well, if you keep spacing out we won't ever have the time to find our outfits for the company's dinner and dance." Isobel's mouth pulls into a small smile and Kris fails to keep his thumb to himself, gently rubbing circles at a corner of her lips. Isobel resists the urge to purr at the affection (but she does close her eyes as she revels in Kris' touch and Kris barely manages to keep his lips sealed for he so wants to call his girlfriend  _ kitty cat _ .)

  
  


\---

  
  


Isobel bursts into the room of her  ~~ ex- ~~ childhood friend, door opening with a  _ bang  _ against the wall, and a  manly feminine loud scream causes her ears to bleed. Instead of comforting her ringing ears, Isobel throws herself at her friend and her hands grip onto his shirt. She starts to shake him and another loud shriek reverberates the room. “Help me, Sehun! Help me please, Sehunnieeeeeeee!” 

 

Sehun extracts himself from his childhood friend, strong fingers prying Isobel’s fingers off his shirt. By then, a deep glower has already formed on his face because  _ hello,  _ it’s a beautiful Sunday and it’s the only day of the week where Lu Han doesn’t get Sehun to work so he always lazes in bed until ungodly hours (or until Mama Oh barges in and drags him out by the ear). On this day, or any other day actually, Sehun does not appreciate sudden throws-oneself-onto-best-friend visitations from best friends such as Isobel. Jongin is included. 

 

“What is your problem!?” Sehun screeches, fingers pinching the last of Isobel’s fingers as he successfully removes her presence from himself. He pinches hard, and Isobel cries out in a loud whine that Sehun mistakenly hears as a defiant growl. He pinches her fingertips harder, a smirk creeping onto his face when he sees the girl’s face contorting in pain. Most people don’t realise, because of his poker face and sometimes-angelic expressions, but Oh Sehun is kind of… sadistic. Oh, and he looks down on people. “Who are you to barge into his Highness’ room on a fucking Sunday! Explain yourself, peasant!” (Told ya.) 

 

Isobel looks up at her best friend with glistening eyes, her legs having given way when Sehun had pinched her fingers and she had cried out in pain but sadistic Oh Sehun just continued to inflict pain upon the peasant. Sometimes, he gives publicly acknowledged satan incarnate Kyungsoo a run for his money. Both Zitao and Jongin can testify to that, having experienced painful jabs to their bodies by mops, chopsticks, forks, or practically anything Sehun can get his hands on. Jongin sometimes jokes that Sehun would probably use a sushi knife and stab them all someday before Zitao slams a hand over the younger boy’s mouth and forbids him to give Sehun any more ways to murder them. 

 

“I-I–” Isobel stutters, words failing her and fear washes over her when she sees the unimpressed expression on Sehun’s already-scowling face. She sees the cogs in his mind, whirring and concocting the exact method of another infliction of utter pain upon her. Shit, she’s going to die. “I need you–”

 

“Me?” Shock flits onto Sehun’s face in a split second, replacing the fearsome expression. His fingers release Isobel’s, and he drops to the floor as well. “What do you need me for? Is Kris unable to satis–”

 

“Oh my god, you dirty-minded– Just shut up and listennnnnnn!” Isobel snarls, fear flying out of the window the instance Sehun had implied that Kris and her had– y’know,  _ y’know _ . Her fist comes up to Sehun’s face and his eyes converge together as he stares at the clenched fist that is practically shoved up his nostrils. He shuts up and gulps, apparently getting the message that _ yes, you ought to shut up before you get it, peasant _ . 

 

“My mother is refusing to let me go for the company’s dinner and dance because my date, who is obviously Kris, is someone she doesn’t know.” Isobel drops her fist and Sehun visibly relaxes, a sigh of relief slipping out of his lips. “So I’m trying to convince her that you’re my date instead, because she obviously knows you.” 

 

Sehun’s relieved breath goes back inside of him. His eyes dart up to Isobel’s, slight nervousness washing over him and he squeaks, “You. Want me. To be your date.” At Isobel’s curt nod, his eyes blow wide and he practically yells in her face, “ARE YOU INSANE PEASANT YOU DON’T WANT ME TO LIVE ANYMORE IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE SAYING?!?!” 

 

Isobel calmly wipes his spit off her face, but launches into an equally heated holler back at him. “I AM NOT INSANE AND NO I DON’T WANT YOU DEAD WHY WOULD I WANT TO KILL YOU YOU CRAZY–”

 

“THEN WHY DO I HAVE TO BE YOUR DATE WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO KRIS–”

 

“WERE YOU NOT LISTENING–”

 

“–HE IS GOING TO COME AFTER ME–”

 

“–OH MY GOD YOU HAVE HEARING PROBLEMS I NEED TO TELL MAMA OH–”

 

“–AND CUT ME UP WITH SOO-HYUNG’S CLEAVER AND–”

 

“–I JUST NEED TO USE YOUR NAME–”

 

“–STUFF MY BODY INTO A POTATO SACK–”

 

“–AND YOU TO BRING ME TO THE DINNER–”

 

“–AND THROW ME INTO A GARBAGE TRUCK–”

 

“ _ WHAT IS THE RUCKUS ABOUT!”  _

 

A bellow of a different voice breaks the volley of yells, effectively shutting the pair of childhood friends up as their heads robotically swivel towards the door. A collective squeak fill the white noise of the room where silence is the aftermath, as a formidable presence towers over them both and in that moment, both Sehun and Isobel feel like children all over again. 

 

Mama Oh glares down with a whisk held menacingly in her hands. “What in heavens were you two shouting about? You were so loud, that Madam Jung from next door came over and politely asked for me to control my pair of hormonal lovebirds!” Isobel winces, clearly getting the innuendo and an apology is at the tip of her tongue when Sehun spoils everything with a scoff. He earns himself a well-deserved whack on the head with the whisk and Isobel flinches at the sound that echoes from the hit. Her hands immediately extend towards the top of his head out of habit, because as children she always had to do that for Sehun, and she begins to rub at it. 

 

“We’re sorry, Mama Oh…” Isobel apologises, her hands still trying to lessen the pain on Sehun’s crown. Sehun had all but crumpled onto the floor, hands cradling his head as he whimpers softly. “We didn’t mean to shout. We’re very sorry.” Her eyes dart upwards to the woman’s and notices with relief that Sehun’s mother’s eyes aren’t hard and reprimanding, even though there is a frightening expression etched on her face and the whisk is still held menacingly in her hands. 

 

Mama Oh exhales while Isobel holds her breath, uncertain as to what the woman might do because she really looks mad. Images of young Sehun and Isobel being chided and beaten by Mama Oh swim into her mind and that prompts her to straighten her spine, eyes still gazing at the woman’s. Isobel swallows but breathes deeply when Mama Oh spins around, apron swirling around her knees. “Stay for dinner, Bel, I cooked your share.” And she walks out of the room. 

 

A collective loud exhale echoes in the room. Isobel feels her hands sliding off Sehun’s hair as he sits up, hands falling to his lap. His crown still hurts, because it’s been so many years since he’s experienced such powerful whacks from his mother, but he ignores the throbbing pain to place his face in Isobel’s sight. He sees the relief flooding her face and the corners of his lips tug upwards into a small smile. “So…”

 

“I really need your help,” Isobel quietly pleads. “Please help me out… Your Highness?” She brings out the high and mighty address, knowing that her friend enjoys being called that  ~~ like the overconfident bastard he’s grown up to be ~~ . 

 

Sehun scratches his head, wincing slightly when his nails accidentally comes across an area of the whisk-inflicted pain. Isobel quickly bring a hand back to the spot and continues to rub. A doubtful smile forms on her face as she waits for Sehun’s answer. “Please be my cover-up date? All you need to do is to bring me there and back, and yes I’m sorry I seem so selfish but–”

 

“Okay,” Sehun simply says. “I’ll do that.” 

 

Isobel brightens up, smile widening into an absolutely dazzling smile that has Sehun smiling. “Really? You’ll do that for me? Thank you, Sehunnie!” She throws herself at him again, arms wrapping around the boy’s bony shoulders, face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

 

Sehun chuckles and returns the embrace. “But, there are conditions, my dear Bel.” He feels her nod, chin prodding rather painfully into his shoulder and he tries not to grunt in pain. “Firstly, you will call me senior from now on. Secondly, you will pay for my transportation fee for that night. And thirdly,” Sehun pulls away. 

 

“Don’t call me Sehunnie.” 

  
  


\---

  
  


“You probably don’t know the basic etiquette that a boy must show when he comes to fetch a girl.” 

 

Sehun rolls his eyes and loudly scoffs, “Excuse  _ you _ , but I have plenty of basic etiquette–”

 

“Then kindly explain why we’re taking a  _ freaking bus _ ,” Isobel hisses, dragging the  _ s _ far too long for Sehun’s hissing threshold and he promptly shoves his free hand over her mouth. That shuts Isobel up for a few seconds before the boy feels wetness on his palm and with a shriek that earns himself the attention of probably the whole bus, he snatches it back and upon inspecting under the weak light of the bus, he realises that his childhood friend had just licked his hand. Sehun tries hard to not tackle Isobel to the floor and just wring her neck– 

 

He just inhales and exhales as deeply as he can. “Because, my dear ( _ ex _ ) childhood friend, I do not have a car.” Sehun grits, teeth clenched. “And besides, you promised that you’d pay for my transportation fee tonight so why on earth would I not want to take public transportation when someone is paying for me?”

 

Isobel gives Sehun a long, judging stare that surprisingly doesn’t cross over the boy’s threshold for overly long stares. He mentally attributes this tolerance to the fact that Jongin always stares at him at work, but one day when Sehun goes to confront his best friend because he thinks Jongin ought to seriously stop staring, he horrifically discovers that Jongin had been sleeping all along. With his eyes  _ o p e n _ . Sehun doesn’t know if he should feel glad or frightened. 

 

“Your family owns a car,” Isobel deadpans, judgmental stare still directed on her friend. “Couldn’t you have asked Mama Oh for the keys, Oh Sehun?” 

 

Sehun shoots her an offended look, eyes widening to the size of saucers, mouth gaping open unattractively and Isobel quickly shifts her hands to the railing, gripping it tightly before she does the unthinkable and punches Sehun in the face for being such a ugly fucker on a Saturday night. Nobody needs to see and talk to such people on weekends. As if coming into contact with them on weekdays isn't enough. 

 

Thankfully, Sehun snaps his mouth shut seconds later and replies airily, “Excuse me but I would think that my name comes with a  _ senior  _ that you promised to call.” He raises a brow as Isobel groans and rests her forehead on the railing. 

 

“And oi, even if I didn’t come and pick you up in a fancy-smancy car like those boyfriends who spoil the entire globes’ boyfriend markets in those stupid fluffy dramas, at least I have the conscience to carry these for you.” Sehun raises his other hand and a pair of heels swing in between their faces. “Gentleman much?” 

 

Isobel’s eyes dart towards the still-swinging footwear and a resigned sigh slips out of her lips. When Sehun had belatedly realized that Isobel might stumble in the bumbling bus, he offered to switch shoes with her but Isobel rejected him, citing  _ I bet that pair of dress shoes stinks terribly– How do you know!? _ . In the end, Sehun managed to persuade her to remove the heels and he'd hold onto them for her because he's a  _ gentleman _ . (Isobel almost choked on air.)

 

Isobel wriggles her toes, her mind trying to not think about the dirt on the bus' floor that's sticking to her bare soles and  _ oh dear I'm turning into Minseok because germs, germs, germssssss!  _ “Fine, you might,  _ might  _ possess thirty percent of basic etiquette.” Sehun smirks, and Isobel hurriedly adds, “Don’t let it get to your insatiable ego, Sehun–” She catches sight of Sehun's  _ c'mon say it  _ look, gulps and tries to suppress the urge to punch the living daylights out of the smug boy. “– _ senior _ .” 

 

Isobel drags the  _ r  _ but Sehun’s too overjoyed with the honorific to let the hiss tread over his threshold. (As mentioned, the boy looks down on people and is sadistic.  _ Very _ , sadistic.) 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Heard that Sehun’s bringing Bel here.” 

 

Kris glances up from his plate, his cutlery in the midst of slicing up a sausage when the name of a childhood friend catches his attention. The sausage lays abandoned as Kris places the knife down while the fork stabs the sausage. Kyungsoo looks on, amused. Next to him, his kitchen partner just noisily wolfs down his food as though he hasn’t eaten in days. 

 

(Kyungsoo calmly chants in his head  _ ignore him ignore him ignore–  _ Chanyeol burps. And Kyungsoo’s calmness flies out of the tall glass windows of the hotel ballroom. He calmly says to Chanyeol to  ~~_ get away from me you embarrassment _ ~~ _ go find Minseok and bother him with your noise instead _ .) 

 

Chanyeol’s eyes finally tear themselves away from the mountain of spring rolls on another plate (Kris wonders how the chef managed to balance two fully-piled plates all the way from the buffet table that’s a good kilometre away from his table) to land on Kyungsoo’s impressive glare. He takes the hint and scarpers, the spring rolls tottering precariously and Kris almost smacks his hand against his forehead when  _ yes _ , the rolls find their way into Yixing’s plate when Chanyeol trips over nothing.  _ N o t h i n g.  _

 

“If you’re wondering how I tolerate him,” Kyungsoo’s voice brings Kris back to the short chef clad in a smart, black tuxedo, and Kris remembers to finally shove the half-sliced sausage into his mouth as his peripheral vision spots Chanyeol trying to remove spring rolls from Yixing’s plate. He chews as Kyungsoo continues. “I don’t.” 

 

Kris just nods, not wanting to pursue the case any longer because like his tall, clumsy colleague, he takes hints and realises from Kyungsoo’s pursed lips and flitting glances towards his work partner (currently chided by their baby-faced manager while his sushi chef boyfriend tries to settle them down) that he doesn’t want to talk about Chanyeol-the-failure-of-a-friend. So Kris goes back to his plate and stabs another sausage, not bothering to slice it.  

 

“Those sausages on your plate are innocent, Kris.” Kyungsoo muses, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. Kris ignores both the glint and the sentence. He just shoves the sausage into his mouth and chews. It tastes sour, like the bunch of grapes he had back home just before driving to the dinner. The more he chews, the more he thinks he's eating a piece of rubber. He swallows and chokes, adding to the volume of Kyungsoo’s snigger as he accepts a cup of water from the chef. 

 

“Thanks.” Kris places his lips on the rim of the cup, eyes pointedly avoiding the gaze of a pair of owl eyes. They dart to the last piece of sausage on his plate and he contemplates if he ought to  _ eat _ ,  _ don’t eat _ ,  _ eat _ ,  _ don’t eat _ – 

 

“Bel’s here.” 

 

Kris chokes on water. 

 

He feels Kyungsoo’s surprised stare on him, hears his soft snicker even though the ballroom is deafeningly noisy with the company’s millions (okay, he exaggerates) of employees, but Kris ignores Kyungsoo. He doesn’t, however, ignore his heartbeat’s sudden increase in speed. He doesn’t ignore the large wave of heat crashing over him as his eyes look over the massive crowd to rest upon a figure that just entered, frame swathed in black fabric to form an outfit that Kris momentarily can’t remember what it’s called. He also doesn’t ignore Isobel’s greeting when she finally spots him even though he’s practically sitting right in front of the ballroom’s only doors. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

“H-Hey.” 

 

_ Jumpsuit _ . Kris’ mind finally recalls the proper name of the outfit that Isobel dons, black fabric cascading down her legs, ending neatly above a pair of black heels; arms left bare save for a few bangles that adorn her wrists. Kris finishes scrutinising his girlfriend’s outfit, corners of his lips beginning to tug upwards in satisfaction even though he had seen it when the couple were out to get matching clothes. But the upward pull of his lips don’t last long. Not when his eyes zero in on a foreign object peeking from behind her waist. Fingers. 

 

_ Sehun’s  _ fingers. 

 

"You're eating already?" Kris hears a whine in her words and quickly darts his eyes away from Sehun's dastardly ( _ how dare he! _ ) fingers, upwards to her face in time to see a pout forming. A probably explicable bout of warmth surges through him but in that point of time, Kris can't come up with a reason. He only  _ sees _ the reason — her pout getting bigger. It makes her adorable and gorgeous at the same time, and Kris tries hard to not throw himself– "Couldn't you have waited for me? Sheesh." 

 

"U-Um, we-well," Kris stutters, his brain evidently having stopped working the moment Isobel strode into the ballroom and rendered his thoughts into a mess he thinks he can ever tidy up. Kyungsoo side-eyes him, corners of his lips twitching and he looks like he's about to burst into a smirk when he decides to help his bumbling, lost colleague. "Don't blame him, Bel," 

 

Kyungsoo then smirks. "He's still a growing child.” 

 

Everyone, except Kris, laughs. In the midst of his laughter, Sehun unconsciously folds his body into half and his fingers wound themselves tighter against the curve of Isobel’s waist, causing her to be pulled closer to him. Isobel stumbles towards the bent-over boy and lets slip a soft, surprised shriek, her arms flailing. Kris decides then that  _ fuck, enough is enough _ , promptly gets to his feet and his long fingers determinedly pry (more of rip, actually) Sehun’s fingers off his girlfriend’s waist. 

 

Sehun feels that he can no longer use those fingers of his. ( _ Serves him right _ , Kris smugly thinks.) 

  
  


\---

  
  


Kris unconsciously grunts and instantly feels lighter on his toes. He scowls at the girl with an apologetic smile in front of him. “I didn’t give you permission to alight from the Kris Dancing Express, miss.” 

 

Isobel’s apologetic smile changes to that of amusement as she chortles softly and Kris’ mind hurriedly records the sound, adding it to his growing repertoire of Isobel-made melodies he’s collecting for future reminiscing.  _ Number eighty-eight, recorded and labeled as Bel’s amused chortle.  _

 

“Well,” Isobel’s gentle voice brings Kris back, his eyes widening when he sees the girl’s eyes gazing fondly, with a hint of playfulness, at him. “I heard you grunt so as a girlfriend who takes hints, I kindly stepped off to let your toes breathe.” She flicks his nose lightly, as a barely audible laugh almost drowns in the sea of chatter that surrounds them on the ballroom’s dance floor. “You should thank me, y’know.” 

 

They had stopped dancing and Kris knows that they’re receiving glares from others who probably hating on them for occupying a prime dancing spot (right smack in the middle where  _ everyone  _ can see them; because Kris is a romantic sap). He ignores them (like the boss he is, and  _ actually could be? _ ). Just then, he feels a presence coming towards him and a face materialising behind Kris’ shoulder briefly startles Isobel who jerks but manages to clamp her mouth shut before a scream escapes. She mentally sighs in relief but confusion quickly washes over her when the man (tip-toes) to whisper something into Kris’ ear.

 

“I-I have to leave you for a little while,” Kris suddenly says, an apologetic expression taking shape upon his handsome face. His fingers loosen their grip on Isobel’s own, and Isobel mentally whines at the loss of contact, of warmth, of security, of  _ Kris _ when he pulls away. She didn’t want to dance in the beginning but Kris continued to pester her with sweet words adorably said in a whiny tone that ultimately lured her onto the dance floor. Yet now, he’s  going to abandon her. “I’ll be back, I promise, but for now, you should go back to Se– no,” His brows furrowed deeply, a scowl forming. “ _ No _ – Go find Lu Han instead.” 

 

And Kris vanishes into the crowd, leaving Isobel with her hands limp by her side, feet standing firmly on the dance floor, and the words  _ don’t go  _ at the edge of her lips unspoken. 

  
  


\---

  
  


While growing up, Isobel was a good girl. She’d listen to elders, parents, siblings, and peers. She was never one for recklessness and disobedience; she’d always listen and would do as she’d been told. Hence, Isobel had always come off as a bright and extremely obedient child to others. 

 

But apparently, she’s had enough of being a goody-two-shoes for Isobel pointedly ignores Kris’ instructions, stomping off the dance floor after blinking foolishly in the direction of where her boyfriend had practically disappeared in, to find the person he had  _ specifically  _ told her to not find. 

 

“Sehun, stab me a spring roll.” 

 

She drops into the chair right next to Sehun’s, just as his fork loses its grip on the piece of fish and it drops onto his pants. An  _ ugh fuck  _ greets Isobel’s ears and she snaps her head to his, eyes narrowing in disbelief at the fact that her best friend had just swore at her. “I am deducting five percent from your basic etiquette because hello,  _ ugh fuck  _ is not a polite way to say  _ hey _ .” 

 

“Where’s–” Sehun clamps his mouth the moment he sees Isobel’s death glare. “–okay, I won’t ask anything.” She looks away and the boy mentally sighs in relief, eyes dropping to the situation that just happened on his pants. “Anyway, am I, like, twenty-five percent gentlemanly now?” Sehun doesn’t look up, fingers picking bits of fish off his pants, flicking them haphazardly off his fingertips and onto the table,  _ and _ towards unsuspecting colleagues. He continues doing so until a murderous aura suddenly ignites from his right and he realises that he’s probably hit someone.  _ Shit _ , Sehun freezes,  _ if it’s Kyungsoo I’m so fucking screwed– _

 

“I have never seen Kyungsoo so murderous before.” Isobel leans onto Sehun, her eyes darting between Chanyeol and Kyungsoo who sat across the round table. She notices the vast differences between the partners — Chanyeol eating happily as though he hasn’t had food in days while Kyungsoo… is just Kyungsoo, indifferent expressions that border on looking bored and utterly unamused. “And I spy a tiny piece of your fish on his jacket and–  _ oh _ , I recognise that look on his face. It’s the infamous  _ you’re-so-fucking-dead _ expression.” 

 

“Stop saying those words in your sing-song voice because you’re not helping me at all,” Sehun grits with clenched teeth, fingers now bunching the fabric of his pants instead of flicking fish onto people sharing his table. He feels them trembling, feels himself beginning to shiver in  _ fear  _ as the stories he had heard from Zitao and Minseok about Kyungsoo and his violent tendencies surfacing in his mind. He has half the mind to believe them then since he still feels a strong, heated glare upon his body. Sehun gulps. “Some  _ friend  _ you are, Bel.” 

 

“Hey! I was just trying to help!” Isobel’s face contorts into an expression of mock disbelief as she leans away from Sehun, shoulder bumping into flesh and a quick side-glance in that direction has the corners of Isobel’s lips tugging upwards because an adorable dimple briefly fills her vision (and it’s Yixing;  ~~_ Lu Han’s _ ~~ _ the establishment’s resident I-didn’t-know-I-had-cheered-you-up-but-oh-okay employee _ ). “Oops, sorry Yixing!” 

 

“It’s okay,” The sushi chef smiles, fingers picking up the piece of sausage, that Isobel has unknowingly dropped, from his pants before placing it onto a piece of napkin. He carelessly wipes at the stain it had left behind on his khaki-coloured slacks. “Unlike Soo, I don’t mind getting food on my clothes because half the time Lu Han does this to me when we eat out.” Yixing winks knowingly at Isobel who stifles a giggle when Lu Han’s  _ oi are you talking about me Xing  _ comes from Yixing’s other side. 

 

“Why are you here though, Bel? Where’s Kris?” Yixing doesn’t mean harm, not knowing that Kris had deserted his girlfriend for reasons unknown, but his words still stab Isobel in the chest and she visibly stiffens. Yixing doesn’t notice the sudden frozen state his colleague had descended into, but he does realise that she had gone silent, offering no response to his questions. He tears his eyes away from Lu Han’s busy hands on his pants (now now, Lu Han was just  _ cleaning  _ his slacks;  _ don’t think of something else kids _ ) to find Isobel slightly sulking. “Bel, what’s wrong?” 

 

Isobel hadn’t wanted to reply. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, didn’t want to say how much she had wanted Kris to invite her onto the dance floor and just dance the night away like Cinderella and Prince Charming but no,  _ no _ , he had to bail on her for reasons she still hasn’t gotten from him. Isobel doesn’t want to reply, but she does, anyway. “He left me on the dance floor.” 

 

Yixing inhales sharply. Then Lu Han. Then Sehun. Then Jongin, Zitao, Minseok, and Kyungsoo (even though he’s still glaring at Sehun, waiting for him to come and pry  _ his  _ piece of fish off his jacket; Sehun still can’t decipher that his glare meant  _ that _ ). Isobel doesn’t hear Chanyeol’s sharp intake of breath, she just hears him still gobbling down his food. She does, however, hear how eerily silent the table has become. Even though the table’s enveloped in a ballroom-sized bubble of incessant chatter and gaudy background music, Isobel clearly hears the silence that her colleagues had fallen into. Also, she still hears Chanyeol’s eating noises. 

 

“I am going to kill–” 

 

“No! Lu!” Isobel’s hands scramble to grab onto her manager’s arms the moment he stands, a dark expression appearing on his handsome, child-like countenance. Fortunately, Yixing grips onto his boyfriend’s wrists and prevents him from stalking off to find his newest employee and  _ kill– _ “Don’t be stupid!”

 

“ _ He left her on the dance floor, Xing. _ ” Lu Han’s shoulders had risen up to his ears and even though the ballroom was dimly lit, anyone can see how crimson his face had become. Lu Han’s furious, and Yixing’s suddenly afraid of what he could have done to Kris if he hadn’t held onto his wrists. He doesn’t want to experience deja vu; he doesn’t need to see another person injured because of his boyfriend’s violent tendencies. 

 

_ Never cross Lu Han when he’s pissed _ . Rule number one when working with Lu Han.  _ Never judge Lu Han by his face.  _ Rule number two.  _ And  _ **_never_ ** _ hurt his friends.  _ Rule number three. 

 

“He broke rule number three,” Lu Han practically hisses at Yixing’s face, expression contorted into an ugliness that the latter prays he doesn’t have to see ever again. “He’d hurt  _ our Bel _ .” 

 

Isobel catches her manager’s eyes when he says that and as though a strong gale had just ripped through, she falters under their intensity and falls onto Sehun. His arms wrap around her immediately, fingers interlocking against her stomach, and heat surges within her — fast, strong, and searing. But it’s the comfortable kind of searing, the kind that emerges when someone talks about you as though they’d protect you with their lives. The kind that makes your heart swell, treading along the border of bursting,  _ exploding _ . And she’s feeling that. Isobel  _ strongly  _ feels it from the people who share the table with her. 

 

And she finds herself beginning to smile. (The feeling of being abandoned by Kris be damned.) 

  
  


\---

  
  


Kris thinks that he’d committed a grave mistake by leaving his girlfriend on the dance floor. He thinks that he ought to have  _ at least  _ escorted her to Lu Han because he knows, he  _ feels  _ that Isobel would disregard his words and go find that ( _ read:  _ ex)  _ best friend  _ of hers. 

 

He also, suddenly, feels a murderous aura being directed at him from somewhere within the vast ballroom. Kris gulps in a fear that he doesn’t know has surfaced from within him because somehow, the aura feels faintly familiar…  _ Lu Han-the-manager  _ kind of familiar. 

 

Kris pushes the shudders that threaten to rock his body out of his mind, hoping that  _ out of sight out of mind  _ just as the same figure, that brought him away from Isobel, appears in front of him with a blank expression. The man may be his father’s secretary, an employee of the company that he has seen far too many times for his liking but Kris thinks that he might never get used to the secretary’s aloof countenance. Sometimes Kris catches himself pondering if the man used to be a ruthless ninja. 

 

“Ready to address the crowd for the first time?” The man speaks and Kris barely wills himself to not wince at his emotionless tone of voice. “Ready to finally step out of your father’s shadow–”

 

“Don’t–” Kris grits his teeth, his mind instantly warning him of the words that his father’s secretary will say each time he speaks with him. “–call me that–”

 

The man breaks into a frightening smile, and Kris swears that his father’s right hand man lives to make his life miserable. 

 

“ _ Young Master _ .”

  
  


\---

  
  


A microphone crackles to life. 

 

Isobel reluctantly tears her eyes away from the piece of fish she’s slicing to follow the direction of Yixing’s pointing finger and the sight of a large stage greets her. She squints, narrowed eyes trying to take in the lone figure on stage, a  _ who the fuck is that  _ slipping out of her mouth before she processes it. Of course, Lu Han catches onto her swearing immediately. Isobel thinks that her manager possesses a radar for expletives, especially expletives spoken by  _ his employees _ . Lu Han’s hand, which he had already slung across Yixing’s shoulders protectively ( _ from what _ , Yixing had teased;  _ from who is more like it _ , Lu Han gritted back), lightly smacks her arm. 

 

She purses her lips and shoots her manager a displeased expression but it doesn’t last for long when Sehun’s fingertips lightly press onto her jaw, gently turns her head towards one of the many screens hung around the ballroom, and Isobel’s eyes blow wide for–

 

“Kris Wu, everyone!” 

 

–her boyfriend is on the stage. And if she isn’t mistaken, did the MC just address him as  _ Kris Wu, son of Wu Enterprises’ CEO _ – 

 

“I should have known.” 

 

The deathly tone of Isobel’s voice makes Sehun turn, the shit-eating grin on his face that formed when his colleague stepped onto the stage faltering the moment he sees his best friend’s stricken expression. He ignores Jongin who’s pointing excitedly at the screen, soft sniggers emitting from him at probably something that Kris is talking about, to completely turn his body towards her. His hands make their way to hers, and he slips his fingers between her cold ones. Sehun winces at the chill but forces himself to concentrate on the now-frozen girl in front of him. 

 

“Bel…?” He tries to get her to talk to him, fingers applying pressure to her hands in hopes of getting her to snap out of her thoughts because he’s certain that her mind is running a mile a minute; and he knows,  _ he knows  _ that if its speed increases any faster, she’s going to go haywire — her eyes betray everything. “Bel, what’s wrong?” 

 

“I…” Sehun finally hears her murmur, even if he has to practically shove his left ear in front of her mouth, earning himself a queer look from Yixing who begins to show interest in the best friends’ situation. Sehun shakes his head slightly, eyes attempting to convey the message,  _ it's okay, I've got it, let me handle this  _ and Yixing nods, concern washing over his face still, before leaning away. “... should have known.” 

 

“Known what?”  

 

Isobel murmurs something that Sehun couldn't catch, and his brows furrow at that. He does, however, feels their knees bumping together under the table, feels the heat of her skin penetrating through the fabric of his pants. Sehun barely has time to jerk his knee away from hers because of the searing heat before his mind registers a series of movement that happens in less than ten seconds — the loss of her fingers between his, the soft  _ oof _ of chair against carpeted flooring, his childhood friend standing up, her back view as she slips between his fingers, and the doors of the ballroom close with an ominous  _ clack  _ that’s drowned out by a sudden, deafening outburst of confusion and disbelief. 

 

And the doors open once more, another figure hurtling through them, and they close with a resolute  _ clack _ . 

  
  


\---

  
  


The crowd on the street part like the Red Sea as a figure swathed in black fabric dashes through. Some passers-by manage to hear sniffles, manage to catch fleeting glances of a tear-streaked face before the figure runs past and out of their lives. Other passers-by don’t even see the figure until their shoulders, their bags, their bodies get knocked in varying degrees of impact. The result: outbursts of curses, flipping of fingers, and the street itself automatically steering clear of a figure running for reasons unknown. 

 

The figure finally stops, hands gripping knees, loud wheezes joining the chorus of chatter abuzz on the crowded street. She retreats to a corner, feet taking her into a dimly lit alley, away from curious gazes and concerned murmurs, before her walls come crumbling down, taking her with them. Her back grazes the concrete wall behind her, a sharp chill running up her spine as the black fabric of her jumpsuit rubs against the cold, rough surface of the wall. 

 

The hustle and bustle of the crowded street on a Saturday night should have obscured the squatting figure; the noise should have drowned out the muffled sobs and cries of a girl, whose face had already buried itself into the crooks of her arms.

 

Yet, somehow, someone manages to find her. 

 

“Bel…?” 

 

And above the roar of the crowd, she still manages to hear  _ him _ . 

 

Isobel stiffens, sobs pausing for seconds before she wills herself to swallow them, wincing when the pain hits, gripping her dry throat like a sandstorm ripping through a desert mercilessly. She keeps her head down, face still buried within the safety of her arms. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t allow a whimper to escape, doesn’t even jerk her body. Isobel doesn’t want to do  _ anything _ to let him know that she has heard him. 

 

Isobel just wants him to go– go away and leave her  _ alone _ . 

 

But  _ he  _ stays. He hasn’t left, hasn’t taken a step back because of her lack of response. Instead, she hears her name,  _ a part of her name _ , once more. It’s gentler, softer this time, yet she hears it clearly. She hears it over the roar of the street, hears it over the thundering of her heart.

 

With his voice comes an all-familiar warmth. It emanates strongly from him, as though he has control over it and he wants her to feel it, tendrils of the heat that she has accustomed herself to feel secure in, to unconsciously lean into, swirls around her, wrapping themselves around her wrists, ankles. They snake upwards, gently skimming along her limbs, until  _ his  _ warmth envelops her. And Isobel has to find it in her to not break out into whimpered sobs, to not lift her head and set her eyes upon  _ him _ , to not jump into his arms. 

 

To not  _ give in _ . 

 

Isobel would have continued to keep her head down, her face nestled in her arms, her eyes shut and unseeing,  _ her heart safe and sound _ , if not for his  _ I’m sorry, Bel _ . She blames herself, thoroughly and harshly, for attuning her ears to catch his voice, to identify it even amongst deafening chatter, to allow it to drown out other sounds no matter how soft he had spoken in. In that point of time, Isobel really dislikes–  _ hates _ – who she has become around  _ him _ , around–

 

“Kris–”

 

The girl finally lifts her head, eyes finally seeing and resting themselves upon the young man. She risks a swallow, and mentally winces when the pain she had experienced moments before rips through her throat. She regrets doing that, but doesn’t allow her eyes to betray the pain she had felt. Isobel forges on. “–if you think that an apology is sufficient, you are  _ sorely mistaken _ .” 

 

Isobel doesn’t  _ give in _ . 

 

Unfortunately,  _ he  _ doesn’t give in either. 

 

“I never once presumed that an apology would be enough; I’d only thought of it being  _ never  _ enough instead.” Kris says softly, his eyes resting on her face. The corners of his lips twitch, threatening to pull just millimetres upwards into a small, reassuring smile, but the moment he looks at her eyes, he forces the urge down in reluctance. The apprehension reflected so crystal clear in them scares him.  _ Whatever happened to the warmth, the affection, the love _ , Kris thinks as he struggles to stop himself from reaching out to her, hands wanting to envelop hers.

 

Isobel watches him, unconscious of the wariness that's growing inside of her. She only realizes it, feels it surging within her when her eyes catches the movement of Kris' hand as it leaves his knee and attempts to cross the distance between them. The wariness hits her like a large wave crashing onto sand, creating dents,  _ deep holes _ that she thinks might never be filled if she tries on her own. With another's help,  _ possibly _ . With someone that’s not Kris,  _ imposs– _

 

Isobel hurriedly stops her thought and mentally chides herself for even thinking like that, before saying, “Go away.” and she makes a mini show of pressing herself against the wall, crouching even deeper in the process. She feels a sudden, fleeting glance on her hands while she hides them in the darkness of the fold of her body, but the feeling disappears the instant she drags her eyes upwards to stare at the young man and the weight of the glance transfers onto her orbs. 

 

It’s painful, Isobel discovers,  _ really fucking painful  _ to look at him and deny herself permission to crawl over on her hands and knees (germs and dirtied alley floor be damned), and ball herself up in his warm, secure,  _ familiar _ embrace. 

 

She would have done that, and perhaps let him take her home even though her parents would definitely flip tables (and fingers) at her and possibly him, but she doesn’t.  _ Strongly  _ wills herself not to. Instead, Isobel gingerly allows the bubbling bout of wariness in her to surface and watch the reflection of her apprehension in his eyes that’s becoming smaller and smaller as the seconds painfully ticked by. 

 

The street has turned silent, suddenly. The insane crowd a thing of the past as Isobel hears nothing but the betrayal of her heart, thundering so deafeningly within her chest. She wonders if he hears them, then she wonders if her ears are playing tricks on her because  _ are those his heartbeats…?  _

 

“Leave,” Isobel tries again, her mind clearly realising that its logical side is losing the tug-of-war against its illogical counterpart because  _ shit _ , her hands are starting to twitch and slide their way out of their hiding place and up towards her knees– “Leave me alone, you– you  _ liar _ .” 

 

Her hiss lingers in the air, the word  _ liar  _ hanging between them longer than it should but Isobel doesn’t mind, doesn’t care even as she sees Kris flinching, fingers digging into his knees and marks begin to appear. She admits, though, she hadn’t meant to snarl but she justifies it with the fact that he lied.  _ Kris lied to me.  _

 

“I should have known though,” She continues, slight relief washing over her when her hands slip back down to her stomach. They’re no longer itching to break free of the cage she’s subjected them to, probably resigning to their fate. Her eyes still rest on his, but she finds it easier to look at him now, difficulty level decreasing with each passing minute. “That you’re someone who’s…” Isobel struggles with her diction, biting onto her lower lip as her mind runs a mile a minute and  _ ah, it hasn’t done that in a while _ . Her features lights up, startling Kris who tilts his head in slight confusion but he knows better— it’s only momentary. 

 

“–different.” At Isobel’s hard tone, Kris’ head snaps back upright, the confusion in his eyes unclouding and he sees an equally steeled expression forming on her face. “You’re different from us. You can have dinners at expensive restaurants on a daily basis, you drive a car and don’t take public transportation, you don’t seem to know how to work–” Isobel inhales sharply, as though she’s come to a revelation. “–and I should have known.” She drops down to a whisper. “ _ I should have known. _ ” 

 

“What difference would it have made if you’ve known?” 

 

That riles Isobel up. “Everything!” She knows that the single word is hardly a reasonable answer, but she continues to argue her case despite slightly faltering under the rise of Kris’ brows. Isobel knows that he isn’t convinced, just like that time she tries hard to persuade him to buy ice cream for the entire establishment because  _ you’re new and you need to build rapport _ ; Kris had scoffed, muttering  _ rubbish, you just wanted to have some ice cream _ . In the end, he did buy ice cream for his colleagues because Kris is a softie at heart (and a sucker for his girlfriend’s puppy face). 

 

“I–” Isobel realises that she’s bordering on yelling, her loud voice bellowing in the eerily silent street, and she immediately quiets down but allows the roughness to remain in her words. “If I’ve known, if I’ve known that you’re the–  _ son  _ of our CEO, I would have made mental preparations for those stares thrown our way–”

 

“I don’t see how that would have changed anything,” Kris sighs, exasperation beginning to surface in his tone of voice. He doesn’t understand where Isobel’s coming from, what she’s implying. He can’t seem to find reason in her statements no matter how hard he works his brain. Kris just simply doesn’t understand. 

 

“It would have changed  _ something _ ,” Her snarl drowns out the white noise of the street, and this time Isobel hardly cares about being rude to him because she’s getting the feeling that Kris isn’t comprehending anything she’s been saying. “Some things such as not looking like an idiot for each time someone comes up to you and shakes your hand and smiles knowingly at me while telling me  _ you’ve caught yourself a good fish _ and I’m all  _ huh what are you talking about  _ but now I know — they were congratulating me on having the  _ son  _ as a boyfriend and oh wait– now that I think about it, those heated glares from those bitches make perfect sense.” 

 

Isobel scrubs a hand on her face, forgetting that she has make-up on and only remembers when she sees small black smudges on her palms. She doesn’t even  _ bother  _ to freak out. “They were fucking jealous because  _ what the fuck where did this stick come from can’t he see how much more gorgeous we are compared to her  _ and oh my god don’t get me started on how humiliated I was when I finally,  _ fucking finally  _ realised that you’re my big boss’ son through the fucking screen and tell me, the rest of them know, don’t they?” 

 

Kris watches Isobel inhale, deep and long, and sees her face settling into a relaxed expression that seems to come after all that long-windedness. He has half the heart to not nod his head, but he decides that he’s kept Isobel in the dark for too long,  _ far _ too long and now it has backfired. So he nods and his heart shatters when Isobel literally crumbles in pieces in front of him. He doesn’t think that his heart could feel any more pain, but apparently it can. Kris feels like death when he sees the immense disappointment flooding Isobel’s face, redefining her facial features into a devastated expression Kris will never forget. He will never forget her words either. “And you didn’t think about telling me?” 

 

_ “You didn’t think that you could trust me?” _ remains unsaid but he hears it, hears it loud and clear. The words creep up on him, a rope snaking up his limbs, wrapping itself around his throat, tightening until he can’t breathe– “I didn’t think that it’d be an important factor in our relationship.” 

 

Isobel scoffs immediately, but the devastation so firmly etched on her face doesn’t go away. She draws her legs towards her, arms circling around her shins and she clasps her hands together. Kris notices the paleness quickly colouring her knuckles and feels a pang shoot through his still-hurting heart. He really feels like he’s dying, because his chest  _ fucking hurts _ –  

 

“You just don’t trust me, that’s all.” 

 

And Kris stiffens at that. He might have heard the lingering, unspoken statement of  _ you don’t trust me  _ but to hear it from the lips of a girl whom he treasures is a whole new world of feels. The statement hits him like a truck crashing into a motorcycle — powerful, deadly,  _ fatal _ and Kris barely survives. He barely has enough strength in him to push himself up, doesn’t seem to have reserves for his mind to run a mile a minute to come up with words to counter her accusation even though he knows, he knows that deep down in his heart that  _ it’s not true, it’s totally not true–  _

 

_ Or is it?  _

 

That stray thought has Kris second-guessing himself, has him feeling guilty for even allowing his mind to think about such idiocy because as he falls into the recesses of his mind, he reluctantly has to admit that  _ yes, it might be true _ . The seemingly innocent question forces the young man to recall his past relationships,  _ flings _ , where the parties involved only date him because of his status, for his money, because  _ he’s the son of the CEO _ . So it is true, Kris thinks. 

 

_ I really hadn’t trusted Bel.  _

 

_ But you can’t blame yourself _ , his mind suddenly supplies,  _ you have trust issues with the people around you, with people who say that they want to be friends when all they wanted is access to the power and riches you possess so what if Bel is someone like that– _

 

_ No _ , Kris interrupts his mind, silencing it the moment it mentions her,  _ Bel isn’t– _

 

_ How do you know? How do you know that she isn’t superficial and materialistic like those ‘friends’ you have?  _

 

If his mind has a face, Kris thinks it would be smirking at him and he shudders at that. He also shakes his head at those accusing statements because he knows, he just  _ knows _ that  _ Bel  _ isn’t anything that his mind is saying–

 

_ Because if you hadn’t thought about her in those ways, you would have told her about your status. You wouldn’t have been afraid to tell her everything, but you didn’t; you didn’t tell her anything about you because let’s face it: _

 

“You’ve never trusted me, Kris.” 

 

For the past minute or so, Isobel has kept her eyes on him. She takes in his blank expression, and notices the way his pupils had flitted from left to right as though in uncertainty. She had observed the minute changes on his face, and if Isobel doesn’t know better, she would have thought that Kris was having a quarrel with his mind in his head or something along those lines. (How right she is, that girl.) 

 

So when she speaks up once more, wanting to reiterate what she has said, she expects Kris to snap out of whatever he’s going through. And he does; the dazed look on his face vanishing in seconds and his eyes uncloud themselves, enabling him to see a passive expression on the girl’s face. Kris licks his lips, unsure of what to say because  _ fuck, I really hadn’t trusted Bel right from the start _ . 

 

He doesn’t have to say anything, though, and neither does she have to continue because moments later Isobel would be pulled away by a figure who barges between them, a furious expression on his face as he bellows at Kris,  _ I thought you had told her!  _ before grabbing Isobel’s hand, dragging her out of the alley and onto the street. 

 

Kris hazards a glance at their back views, hoping that Isobel would turn back but when they disappear around a corner, the hope bursts into flames and its ashes join the remains of his shattered heart at the bottom of his chest. 

  
  


\---

  
  


The following day (yes, the establishment still open for business;  _ unfair,  _ Zitao bawls,  _ infringement of labour law! _ ), Isobel basically ignores every single one of her colleagues. She treats them like air, like they’re invisible, treats them like, in her words,  _ the trash, the fucking liars they are _ . She doesn’t feel sorry, doesn’t even bat an eyelid when Chanyeol bursts into tears right in front of her because  _ wails, why are you pretending that I don’t exist, Bel, whyyyyy wails some more _ . (Seconds later, Kyungsoo comes to his  _ sighs, pathetic  _ partner’s rescue after Isobel ruthlessly pushes him out of her way with a large roll of her eyes.)

 

In Isobel’s defense, as she brings it across when her manager walks up to her and demands (or _timidly asks for_ is more like it when Isobel sends a murderous glare at him) for a talk with regards to her odd behaviour towards her colleagues, she didn’t mean it. 

 

“It’s hard to be nice to people who’ve  _ lied  _ to you,” Isobel carelessly retorts, waving off Lu Han’s splutters. She brushes past him, nimbly avoiding his flailing pair of hands that seem to want to grab at her, and walks towards the booth she always falls asleep on. “And don’t tell me that you didn’t mean it; I’m not buying that crap.”

 

Lu Han watches her curl up into a ball and close her eyes.  _ How can someone who looks so harmless, so vulnerable _ , he fondly thinks,  _ harbour that much grudge against people _ . As much as he wants to shout at her in frustration for not believing him when he had honestly told her that  _ I didn’t know that you don’t know _ , he couldn’t do it. Lu Han doesn’t want to admit it (but Yixing keeps teasing him about it anyway), but he always had a soft spot for his only female, only-serious employee. 

 

(Don’t tell anyone but he already knows that she has a seafood allergy. It’s not hard to notice it when she practically winces and stops breathing whenever she has to serve seafood items. This sharp observation explains why Lu Han always tries to get her to deliver non-seafood food items instead. And Sehun helps out whenever he can, getting the thoughtful manager’s hint of  _ Sehunnnnnnn, come~ _

 

He also sees both Sehun and Jongin wolfing down mysterious plates of sashimi roll sometimes. So, yes, Lu Han  _ knows _ .)

 

Heart softened and resigned, Lu Han silently shuffles away and practically throws himself onto the sushi counter. Minseok prods the manager’s arm but reluctantly refrains from unleashing his cruelty of pushing him off when Yixing appears beside him, a silly, fond expression on his dimpled face. “On your account, I’m not going to push him off but if he thinks just because he’s the manager he’s entitled to such–  _ inappropriate  _ behaviour on  _ my  _ countertop, he’s sorely mistaken.” And the older sushi chef shoots his partner a knowing look, before traipsing off towards the kitchen. 

 

Yixing sighs, and turns his head towards his still-sprawled-on-the-counter boyfriend. He jumps slightly on the spot when Lu Han’s round eyes greet him, but Yixing recovers quickly to card a hand through his boyfriend’s hair. “She didn’t believe you, did she?” 

 

Lu Han shakes his head. "You're going to tell me to give her some time, right?" His eyes dart upwards, vision getting blurry and he belatedly realises that he's tearing up. His fingers twitch, itching to wipe away the wetness but another's warmth grazes the bottom of his eyes and Lu Han recognises the touch immediately. 

 

"I'd ask why you're crying, but I've known you for so long, so." Yixing chuckles, index fingers still gently trailing across Lu Han's eyes. He dries his wet fingers on his apron, and returns the favour when his manager-slash-boyfriend shoots him a small smile. "And you know me, so..."

 

"I'll give her time." 

  
  


\---

  
  


Time equals to one week. 

 

It should have been longer, actually, if not for Isobel’s soft heart (to begin with) as her colleagues drown her in a seemingly endless onslaught of whining and tears. She survives Sehun and Jongin’s kicked puppy expressions, grabbing their faces and pushing them out of her sight each time they shove that–  _ atrociously disgusting  _ look at her. She, however, barely manages to withstand Zitao’s;  _ how in heavens is he so good at that _ , Isobel ponders as she forces herself to edge away. Minseok and Chanyeol team up to shower their only female colleague with affection, food, and  _ more food _ . 

 

“Salmon roll, Bel?” Minseok practically shoves a tray full of rolls under Isobel’s nose, causing the girl to clamp her mouth shut and stop breathing because  _ salmon _ . “Kappa? Tamago? Inari?” Just then, a large shadow flits past and Minseok literally vanishes from her sight. Her blown pupils finally identify the shadow and Chanyeol’s gazillion-watt smile blinds her. It’s only when she’s running out of oxygen that she finally inhales and breathes in a full-on inhalation of  _ oh my god, is this Yeol’s yakisoba!?  _ (It must be noted that Isobel adores yakisoba, especially  _ Chanyeol’s _ yakisoba.

 

And Chanyeol smugly directs his gazillion-watt smirk at Minseok who stomps off, full tray of sashimi roll in tow. Shortly after, though, Chanyeol slinks off with a tear-streaked face because  _ wails, Bel just rejected my yakisoba,  _ **_my_ ** _ yakisobaaaaa, wails some more. _ )

 

The pair of colleague-boyfriend adopt the sandwich approach. Literally. 

 

It ain’t the theory of  _ bad, good, bad _ ; it’s really  _ literally _ . At times (or most of the time, when both Lu Han and Yixing can afford to leave their work spaces), Isobel finds herself squashed between the manager and the sushi chef, her arms pressed against theirs  and cheeks squished by theirs . Then they (or Lu Han, in all honesty) start bombarding her with whines, whimpers, whispers of  _ Belllllllll stop ignoring us talk to us talk to us talk to ussssss _ . (Yixing just shoots her a dimpled, saddened look that Isobel thinks she’ll have  ~~ sweet dreams ~~ nightmares of.) She escapes every time, but somehow she finds herself being the reluctant filling between the two pieces of persistent Japanese-establishment-employees-bread a short while later. 

 

Isobel gives up, then. 

 

And Lu Han lets out a deafening yell of triumph that prompts Kyungsoo (who refuses to join in on the  _ festivities _ , as quoted by Chanyeol) to singlehandedly swing his largest pan at the manager who, fortunately or  _ unfortunately  _ ( _ damn,  _ Isobel swears), avoids being hit. Lu Han, however, doesn’t manage to evade Kyungsoo’s hard kick to his shin out of sheer fun which further cements the public’s unanimous acknowledgment of him being a satan incarnate. (Kyungsoo is very proud of that title, mind you.)

 

Amidst the  _ idiots’  _ squabble (how it happened, Isobel has no idea but hey, they’re idiots so), Isobel unconsciously let her thoughts stray to a certain male colleague who hasn’t turned up for work ever since the day of the dinner and dance. A pang sharply shoots through her chest, the pain akin to a stab in the stomach with a knife (not that she has experienced it, of course), and Isobel gasps out loud. Needless to say, her colleagues, who seem to possess senses tuned to her, converge on her in a second and proceed to drown her in their concern. 

 

The only female colleague would have pushed her way out of their tight circle, nimbly avoid their grabby hands, but somehow, just,  _ somehow _ , she finds herself  _ happy _ . A small smile threatens to bloom on her face but she forces it down, not willing to let the young men find out that she’s actually delighted to have them so worried and concerned about her. So she lets herself revel in their affection, and bask in their warmth.

 

(Isobel wills herself to not think of  _ another  _ kind of affection, another degree of warmth that a certain someone’s gummy smile gives her.)

  
  


\---

  
  


He nervously brushes down the front of his jeans and attempts to smooth the wrinkles on his shirt. His hand dives into his opened bag and feels around for the familiar roughness of the apron fabric. He finds it, and fingers close around it as he inhales and steps through the doorway. He stops there, perfectly aware that his knees are trembling from a sudden wave of fear that had washed over him because–

 

“Lu Han should have fired you when you didn’t turn up on the seventh day without any reason.” Then, silence follows for a brief moment before the voice continues, breathy but not less spine-chilling. “But of course, you’re the CEO’s  _ son _ so you’re entitled to such behaviour without repercussions.”

 

Kris doesn’t need to turn around to find out who the voice belongs to; he feels the murderous intent enveloping him, suffocating him, drowning him. No doubt the work of the establishment’s resident satan incarnate. 

 

“Soo…” 

 

“I am not your  _ Soo _ !” Kyungsoo snaps, knocking into Kris from behind as he rushes past him and Kris flinches — at his colleague’s tone of voice instead of the ache blossoming at his ribs.

 

Strands of hair tickle Kris’ nose, and he would have unceremoniously sneezed (imagine if he did sneeze; he’s as good as dead) if not for the heated glare that he finds himself pointedly avoiding. Yet, try as he might to look everywhere but at his short colleague, he soon gets himself a face full of angry Kyungsoo who has, unsurprisingly, grabbed Kris’ collar and yanked him down to his eyelevel. 

 

“And you will never call me  _ Soo  _ until you sort things out with Isobel–”

 

“Wait.  _ Isobel _ ?” Kris interrupts, large hands coming up from his side's to frame his face. He doesn’t try to pry himself away from Kyungsoo, knowing full well that any attempt is futile. So he rests his hands on Kyungsoo’s shoulders and ignores the shorter male’s flitting expression of disgust on his face. “Isn’t she–” 

 

And Kris’ face lights up like a Christmas tree in a dim room. Kyungsoo just stares at him, utterly confounded. “Did you just…”

 

“Yeah,” Kris finally darts his eyes to Kyungsoo’s, not in the least surprised to see the anger in them dissolving into disbelief — an emotion that he’s experiencing too. Of course, he also sees the  _ are you fucking serious right now?  _ reflected off Kyungsoo’s impossibly large orbs and he nods in reply. Kyungsoo groans, “You didn’t think of checking– You’re the CEO’s  _ son _ ! You have access to–  _ Oh my god _ I do work with idiots.” 

 

Kris watches Kyungsoo slap a hand on his forehead, a grandfatherly sigh coming from him. Kris wills himself to not snicker (and dig his grave further). Instead, he straightens himself, realising that his collar has been released from the devil’s claws which were currently rubbing circles on their master’s temples. “There’s something called a  _ name tag _ .” 

 

“Never once laid my eyes on it,” Kris shrugs, eyes flitting away the instant he sees Kyungsoo’s darting towards his. He looks everywhere but at his colleague, again. “Pretty weird now that I think about it; normally one would look at name tags first.” 

 

“It  _ is  _ weird. And you are weird. And Lu Han is weird; I just realised that he didn’t hold an interview before hiring you.” Kyungsoo quickly holds up a hand, stopping Kris’ opened mouth from spouting words. “He usually asks questions, even if you were recommended by higher–  _ wait _ , why on earth am I talking about this.” He narrows his eyes, brows furrowed and lips pursed. 

 

Kris surrenders, large hands in front of him, and he rapidly nods as Kyungsoo sternly reminds him to sort things out with  _ Isobel _ because–

 

“Your life is on the line and I’m not joking.” 

  
  


\---

  
  


“What is  _ he  _ doing here?” 

 

Kris looks up from his dirtied towel to see Sehun’s fierce glare, reminding him of the scene where Sehun had suddenly appeared in that alley and whisked Isobel away like a fairy godmother. It makes his chest hurt, forcing him to recall the moment when he had wished that Isobel would look back, but she hadn’t, and his hope had exploded into flames. Kris’ throat goes dry when he faintly hears Sehun’s murderous  _ I thought you had told her!  _ in his mind, once again bringing back the memory he had futilely tried to erase from his head for the past two weeks. 

 

He knows. Kris knows that he should have informed someone,  _ anyone _ , that he’s taking a short break from work to recollect himself. But he hadn’t. And now he’s paying the price. 

 

“I thought he’d be fired,” Jongin says to Zitao later, as the two of them begin to towel down the dirtied tables during the restaurant’s lunch break, tone seemingly casual but the server actually means it to be anything  _ but  _ casual. “But oh, I must have forgotten who he is in the first place.” And Jongin glances to his tallest colleague who’s a table away, his movement of wiping that table gradually stopping. 

 

“Must be nice to be the CEO’s son,” Zitao promptly follows up, his eyes flitting over to Kris as well, and the corners of his lips twitch when he sees the taller male’s fingers gripping the table’s edge. Zitao smirks. “No consequences at all.”

 

Kris suddenly slackens his grip upon the table, and continues to wipe. When he’s done, he traipses over to the pair of servers, who had somehow decided to rest upon the table's accompanying chairs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when both Zitao and Jongin take a step back and  _ uh, are they trembling?  _ Kris ignores that, and just says, “It’s not nice to be a CEO’s son.” 

 

Only after Kris vanishes from their sight does Jongin turn to look at Zitao, his wide eyes gazing at his fellow server’s. They've both seen the desolate expression on Kris' face, as though an extremely unpleasant memory had unceremoniously flooded his head, because the next thing they find themselves doing is trailing after their colleague with a single objective in mind. 

 

An apology. 

  
  


\---

  
  


For the first time in a long while, Isobel wishes she lives on the other side of the city. Or better yet, she wishes that she lives in another city. Because if she does, she doesn’t have to be suffering (even if she’s gotten herself a free drink that would have cost her an hour’s pay) in a beverage joint sitting on a chair, and facing the person she’s desperately wishing would just leave her  _ the fuck  _ alone. 

 

Alas, Isobel’s an unlucky soul. 

 

So, a  _ Sorry to drag you here even though it’s late and way past your bedtime  _ said in a deep baritone snaps the girl out of her wishful thinking and slams her back into a rather painful present. Another unsaid  _ but we both know you don’t ever sleep this early  _ lingers in the charged air and Isobel quickly drops her eyes to the beverage in front of her. Water droplets slide down the cup and pool at the base, and of all a sudden, condensation seems interesting to her (but science was never her strong suit in school, though).

 

It seems so  _ very interesting  _ that Isobel completely spaces out, senses not picking up on anything. Fortunately (or unfortunately), her sense of touch still works efficiently because the instant Kris gently pinches her nostrils shut, Isobel immediately flies back to reality and the prolonged  torture skin contact leaves her breathless. Literally. 

 

Kris hurriedly releases his light grip on her nose and watches with wide eyes and immense guilt accompanied by an overwhelming bout of worry as his girlfriend ( _ ex or not? _ ) flails her arms around and tries to regulate her breathing. Her seemingly exaggerated inhalations and exhalations would have frightened anybody but Kris isn’t  _ anybody _ ; he’s seen this way more than he should because, well, he’s the cause of it every time. So, he laughs. 

 

It’s just a snicker. A soft snicker that somehow, in Isobel’s eyes, transforms into the gummy smile she loves  ~~ and misses ~~ so much. It sends her reeling in a surge of both euphoria and fury and Isobel inhales and exhales much faster to keep up with the exercise her heart’s going through because hey, it hasn’t been thumping hard enough for quite awhile. 

 

Kris hears the sudden increase in speed of breaths and quickly realises that it’s out of the ordinary for Isobel to be wheezing that hard. In a second, he’s on his knees, large hands enveloping her smaller ones as his round eyes gaze at her. He takes in the suddenly-pale visage and  _ fuck _ , even her lips have whitened. Each wheeze, each pant becomes a sword that charges at him, cutting his skin open, dealing Kris insurmountable pain.  _ I shouldn’t have laughed. I shouldn’t have thought that breathing hard and quickly was okay. I shouldn’t have– _

 

“I’m alright.” 

 

Another breathy, yet reassuring  _ I’m alright _ travels to his ears and acts like the salve to his bleeding wounds. Kris risks a breath of his own, taking in the much needed oxygen after belatedly realising that he hasn’t breathed since he’s fallen to his knees in front of Isobel. “You sure?” 

 

Isobel nods and hums in response, closes her eyes as warmth grazes a side of her face, and she unconsciously leans into the familiar rough skin that’s cupping her cheek. Her ears pick up on a sharp gasp before a sudden jerk rocks her body, and her eyes fly open. She freezes.  _ Shit _ , why is her head tilted towards his hand and  _ did my mind just fucking moan in blis–  _

 

“I’m sorry,” Isobel’s train of thoughts screech to a halt upon hearing words she’s been wanting to hear for two weeks now. She doesn’t want to admit it, but Isobel’s been waiting, waiting,  _ waiting  _ for a text, a phone call, or anything at all from the young man who, she strongly thinks, has let her down with a massive lie. He doesn’t have to apologise (though that’d be best, of course) as long as he gets in contact with her and not just… disappear. 

 

But he  _ had _ disappeared and Isobel’s flames of hopes blew out the moment her ( _ ex or not? _ ) boyfriend’s vanishing act went into its second week. So when Kris walked up to her after she had finished refilling the bottles of sauces and gingerly asked for them to walk home together, she rejected him without batting an eyelid. She hadn't ignored him for her first-in-a-longgggggg-time half-day shift for nothing (and it wasn't without struggle).

 

Alas, Isobel’s an unlucky soul. 

 

Kris had deflated, possibly about to walk away with slumped shoulders but Zitao and Jongin barged in then, and the two boys practically threw the both of them out the door, denying Isobel re-entry into the establishment with shit-eating grins that rival her childhood friend's. Speaking of  _ that  _ friend, whilst she was being pushed towards the door by Jongin, Isobel glanced from the corners of her eyes to see both Yixing and Lu Han manhandling a vehemently struggling said childhood friend into the kitchen where no doubt Chanyeol and Kyungsoo are waiting with open arms (and a frying pan if Kyungsoo's satan incarnate reputation says anything about him).

 

Which brings us back to the present, awkwardness rapidly descending upon the ( _ ex or not? _ ) couple. Isobel feels it. Kris feels it. The lone barista on shift (hiding behind the counter) feels it. The two cups on the table feel it, and Isobel's cup risks condensing, letting one droplet of water slide down its exterior and join its comrades at the base of the cup. But that isn't of importance right now; and since when was condensing ever important anyway?  

 

Kris feels the awkwardness, and is determined to push it away, destroy it even. His hand is still nestled against Isobel's cheek.  _ Good _ . And then Kris embarks on his first step towards reconciliation. 

 

“I’m sorry,” His thumb begins to gently rub circles against the apple of her cheek, slight elation rippling within him if her rounding eyes are an indication of surprise and hopefully, delight. “I’m sorry for not telling you about who I am, and who my parents are. I guess I–” 

 

Fingers clamp his lips shut, effectively silencing Kris. “Get off your knees and I’ll let you say whatever you want to say,” Isobel’s eyes finally flit to his and Kris sees concern, albeit diluted with wariness, swirling within them. He dares to hope. 

 

“Just… get your ass on a chair, please?” 

 

And Kris didn’t hope in vain.

  
  


\---

  
  


In Isobel’s defense, when the  _ busybody men _ at the restaurant (sans Kyungsoo) pester her about  _ WHY WHY WHYYYYY ARE THE TWO OF YOU BACK TOGETHER _ , she was probably swept up in the moment. 

 

“Swept up in the moment, my ass.” Sehun exaggeratingly rolls his eyes and sneers at Isobel, then nimbly dodges her incoming punch that landed squarely on Zitao’s stomach instead. Amidst the Chinese server’s howls of pain, Isobel calmly explains to Kyungsoo and Yixing, the only two who would listen without breaking into  depressed songs wails, how that night’s walk home led to a reconciliation that nobody had expected to happen. And when the only female employee touched on the fact it was Jongin and Zitao who were the ones who made her walk home with Kris, all eyes snap to them. Those eyes narrow to slits.

 

Jongin gulps. Zitao just wails even louder. Kyungsoo magically whips out a frying pan from behind his back. Everyone else flees. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“You know, when Kyungsoo texted me that the reason you made up with me was because you were  _ swept up in the moment _ , I choked on my water.” 

 

Isobel chokes on  _ her  _ water. 

 

“T-That K-Kyungs-soo!” She manages to hiss in between coughs, warmth surging within her as a large hand places itself on her back, long digits tapping rhythmically upon her spine. “To think he’s the traitor amongst us!” 

 

Kris chuckles, but puts his hands up in mock surrender when his girlfriend ( _ definitely not ex _ ) glares at him with pursed lips. “Kyungsoo means well.” Isobel glares harder. “Um, for me anyway.” Isobel doesn’t let up. “Aw, c’mon. Kyungsoo’s your boyfriend’s  _ only  _ friend in that restaurant, seeing how I managed to make enemies in that one night but eh, do Zitao and Jongin count? They kind of apologised to me after making fun of me that day.” 

 

Isobel’s glare falters a little before coming back in full force. “They  _ what _ !?”

 

“Uh,” Kris dumbly replies. “They… kind of made fun of me?” 

 

And Kris finds himself needing to restrain his girlfriend as she suddenly stands and knowing her temper, Kris knows what’s in store for the two servers if he lets her go. He stifles laughter as he ropes her back to him, and makes her sit on his lap. The action effectively stills Isobel’s movement and a deep blush floods her face. “O-Oi…” She attempts to stand up but Kris’ arms have wrapped themselves around her waist, and her struggles only cause the young man to pull her closer to him. “People are watching usssssss!” 

 

“There’s no one here!” (Except that lone barista hiding behind the counter with a blush of his own.) 

 

“Just let me– Aieeeeeeee!” (The blush deepens.)

 

“K-Kris Wu!” (The blush deepens even further.)

 

“I’m c-calling S-Soo!” (Lone barista collapses onto the floor.)

 

“Stop t-tickling meeeeeee!” (Nose bleeds.)

 

“I’ll break up with you!”

 

And the loud squeals stop, though laboured breathing replaces them as both Kris and Isobel catch their breaths after that prolonged  torture tickling session. Kris circles his arms around Isobel’s waist once more, and lets his head drop onto her shoulder. “Don’t…” He focuses his eyes on nothing in particular. “Don’t joke about that.” 

 

Isobel hears the sudden drop in tone and senses the unhappiness that’s seeping into her boyfriend. She feels guilty for that slip of her tongue, but it doesn’t stop her from raising a hand before gently placing it on his head, and her fingers begins to card through his hair. She visualises Kris closing his eyes, the corners of his lips itching to tug upwards into a small, satisfied smile, and she knows all these because the soothing action has been the cause of numerous gummy smiles in the past. So when Isobel continues to comb, the telltale sign of Kris relaxing travels to her ears in the form of a soft, blissful sigh. 

 

“I’m sorry for saying that when I don’t mean it.” 

 

Kris shakes his head, using his forehead on her shoulder as a pivot point. The action drives his forehead against Isobel’s bony shoulder but he has long learned to ignore the pain that comes with it. Yet, try as he always has, Kris hasn’t learned to ignore his girlfriend’s apologies. Because, he strongly believes that, she doesn’t have to say sorry for anything when most of the time he’s probably the one at fault. 

 

“You don’t have to apologise for something as small as that; you only apologise when you’ve done something as unforgivable as what I’ve done to you.” 

 

"But yours is justified," Isobel says, directing a small, wistful smile at him. "Whereas mine was totally out of the blue and uncalled for." She drops her eyes. "At least yours was because you've experienced all those villains who befriended you for your wealth and power instead of getting to know who you truly are. Things like that do leave... scars." And Isobel licks and bites her bottom lip.

 

"Yeah, I guess– But still!" Kris exclaims, his head snapping upwards and his arms tighten around her waist. "I shouldn't have lied!" 

 

"It doesn't matter now." Isobel lifts her head and looks straight at Kris. She doesn't waver, nor does she look away even when she feels a small wave of warmth rushing to her face, flooding it with shades of red. "What matters is that I've accepted your apology and frankly, let's not talk about  _ that  _ anymore, okay?" She smiles, and Kris logs it as one of the prettiest smiles he's seen on her. 

 

"Okay," was all he manages to say before confusion washes over him when he registers a smirk his girlfriend's face. "Oh, and, Kris?"

 

Kris suddenly feels dread creeping up on him. "Y-Yeah?"

 

"Kyungsoo also texted me the other day."

 

Kris' face pales. 

 

"And I know he means well but I cannot help but think about how you don't seem to be well at all." 

 

He gulps.

 

"Seeing how you don't even  _ read  _ name tags!" 

 

_ Oh. _

 

"So, I'm  _ Bel _ , huh?"

 

_ Shit. _

  
  


\---

  
  


"The eel's for table ten, the kappa’s for twenty-one."

 

Isobel nods, briefly sending Minseok a smile before she nimbly scoops the tray up onto a single hand, the other hand gripping onto the edge for balance. She then sets off, eyes sweeping her surroundings, feet taking her to the respective tables with a speed that shows off how long she has been working at the establishment. Also, it’s easy to walk fast with a stone bowl and a small plate balanced on a single palm, even with steps and obstacles in the form of customers and colleagues along the way. 

 

Thus, Isobel reaches the first table in less than ten seconds, her free hand setting down the small plate of kappa sushi in front of an enthusiastic teenager whose mother prods him to thank the server. The boy grins and Isobel grins in return before she’s off, her feet taking her to the other table. 

 

Her mind still runs a mile a minute, the brain situated within trying to figure out where that table might be, figurative hands rummaging in imaginary folders to dig out that map of the restaurant she had long committed to long-term memory after having worked for the establishment for who-knows-how-long.  _ Ah _ , the brain squeals as it fishes out the important document,  _ here it is _ ! And it goes about relaying directions to her feet and within eight seconds of leaving table ten, Isobel arrives at table twenty-one. 

 

“Eel?” Isobel informs the table’s occupants with the now-standard grin that she directs to every customer she meets. Teeth, check; lips pulled wide, check. The only adult at the table looks at the still-only-female employee uncertainly, as though the grin has put him off, but the customer soon gestures to himself and Isobel promptly sets the stone bowl down in front of him, says  _ enjoy your meal _ , and then she’s off again. 

 

She works in that routine for around ten minutes before she almost spills three bowls of matcha ice cream onto a customer’s head.  _ Almost _ , but a single stray droplet did make its way onto the woman’s greying hair and Isobel terrifyingly thinks that her job stint at this restaurant is over. Amidst her continuous repetitions of  _ I am so sorry _ and her offer of paying for a hair wash in which the woman kindly and profusely declines, Isobel notices a pair of eyes that had fixed themselves upon her. 

 

The eyes belong to a male, and heat washes over her in an instant. Dropping her gaze, Isobel ducks into the kitchen and makes a beeline for Kyungsoo’s station. The short chef’s eyes dart upwards when he sees her appearing in his peripheral vision and sighs into his simmering shoyu soup. He doesn’t even budge, or bat an eyelid when Isobel sidles up to him and whispers, “Help me!” 

 

“Get a grip, Isobel Lee!” Kyungsoo hisses back, his eyes flitting back to the bubbling pot of soup before following the stirring movement of the ladle in his hand. When Isobel whines, the chef contemplates murder with his utensil but decides against it because he doesn’t want his tallest colleague to strangle him to death. Kris doesn’t look like he has it but Kyungsoo (reluctantly) admits that his strength is  _ nothing  _ compared to the server’s. 

 

“I wish I could but he isn’t helping! His bloody gummy smile that he smiles at the customers is  _ driving me nuts _ !” Isobel wails and Kyungsoo considers committing murder for the second time in minutes because her wails are eerily becoming similar to Chanyeol’s. He needs to keep his work partner (and now,  _ boyfriend _ ) in check. “How am I supposed to function properly when I practically  _ live  _ on those fucking gummy smiles!?” 

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes begin to twitch and he quickly pushes the resurfacing thoughts of murder to the recesses of his mind as Isobel continues to wail  like Chanyeol . His grip on the ladle tightens and he stops stirring altogether when a deep wail suddenly travels to his ears and  _ what the fuck Park Chanyeol I am going to kill– _

 

Thankfully, Lu Han comes to the rescue. 

 

“WHAT IS HAPPENING IN HERE  _ oh my god KRIS WU GET YOUR ASS IN HERE! _ ”

 

Of course, with Kris in tow.

 

“Um…” The tallest of them all stammers and his eyes make contact with Isobel’s. Like his girlfriend, he starts to blush and Lu Han, Kyungsoo, and (a wailing) Chanyeol simultaneously smack their foreheads because  _ what an idiotic couple _ . “I think I shouldn’t smile anymore because it’s really causing Bel problems, right?” 

 

Suddenly, a loud crash comes from out the kitchen and everyone scrambles to the doorway just in time to see Zitao on the floor with several bowls of ice cream splattered on both him and the floor. Next to him lay a sprawled Sehun, his hands holding onto an impeccably clean stone bowl. Lu Han inhales, and opens his mouth–

 

“YIXING JUST SLICED OFF HIS SKIN OH MY GOD JONGIN HALPPPPPP!” And, of course, something else just  _ has to  _ happen as well and even though Minseok’s still screaming at the top of his lungs, none of the restaurant’s customers even express confusion or shock. This must have happened often, huh. 

 

“I’m here, I’m here.” Jongin strolls into the picture, a first aid kit swinging in his hand and god forbid should anything happen– 

 

The kit flies out of the boy’s hand and nearly smashes into the face of the establishment’s manager. 

 

“Oops?” 

 

Lu Han just inhales and mentally counts how many more days, months,  _ years  _ before he can officially retire and  _ fucking call it quits with this mental ward _ . Isobel seems to have developed an ability to read minds because she leans towards him and whispers, “You’re never going to leave this place, Sir.  _ Never _ .”

 

Lu Han works with idiots. The establishment’s only female, only-serious employee included. 

 

But, he doesn’t mind. 


End file.
